Legacy of the Psalms
by Umeko
Summary: Lia's legacy in Russia was more than what D'Eon expects when he finds himself an uncle. He embarks on adventures he never dreamed of.
1. Lia's Legacy

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 1 – Lia's Legacy**

"Maman?" The floor was icy to his bare feet. The sickly copper smell was growing stronger… Later he would know it to be blood. The screams came again. The door was ajar. He peeked. It was a scene he had grown to dread in his childhood. There would be no baby brother or sister. Only a little casket consigned to the earth… This time, he was alone, bereft of his older sister's comforting presence by his side.

He expected to see his mother in the throes of labour upon the birthing bed, his grandmother by her side as she fought for her life and that of her child. Maidservants busied themselves with basins of warm water and cloths. Snow floated in flurries outside the windows. He could make out the figure on the bed. A pale hand clasped at the bedclothes. Blond hair glinted in the hazy candlelight. He gasped. It was not his mother on the bed, but his sister, Lia.

The older woman holding her hand was none other than Empress Elizaveta. The grand matron sponged the young woman's brow with a cloth as she held Lia's hand in hers. A baby's lusty cries echoed through the shadowy room.

"I-if it's a boy…" Lia gasped through gritted teeth. "H-his name… M-maximilien…" she fainted much to the alarm of the Empress. "Here comes another one!" the midwife, an elderly woman of some distinction, said. The Empress tried to rouse the new mother. The midwife lifted her hands. They were red with blood. "She's lost too much blood. We need a doctor!" she ordered. She repeated her instructions in a foreign tongue. Maids ran past him, their steps drumming through the silent hall.

* * *

"Master D'Eon!" D'Eon awoke to his family's butler, old Jean Pierre, pounding on his chamber door. "What is it now?" he rubbed his eyes of the last vestiges of sleep. After five years on his family's estate, he had regretfully lapsed into the bad habit of oversleeping on occasion.

"It is Madame. She is having one of her fits…" Jean Pierre said. A crash drowned out the rest of the words. D'Eon groaned. He grabbed the dress hanging over his chair. He shook his hair free of its ribbon. "Lia! Where are you, child?" his mother's plaintive cries echoed through the manor. D'Eon hurriedly slipped into his sister's bedroom. He had formulated this desperate plan when his mother once threatened to storm the Bastille on the fancy that Lia was imprisoned there. A few minutes later, Madame de Beaumont entered the bedroom of her dead daughter.

"Maman," D'Eon looked up demurely from one of Lia's old novels, clad in Lia's dress and seated before Lia's dresser. "Gracious! Look at your hair, child," the woman grabbed a brush from the dresser and set to work on the tangled locks. D'Eon bore it with stoicism. Lia had always been her favourite. The loss of her husband from smallpox and the murder of her daughter had unhinged her mind. The return of her son in apparent disgrace was the last straw.

"We'll be late for Mass! Where's your corset? You can't go to church like that!" she gasped.

"Church?" D'Eon baulked. There was no way he was going to church in his sister's dress. "Of course, Lia. It is a Sunday and you have to do your confession over that Durand boy…" Madame de Beaumont beamed. "It's a pity that your brother's off gallivanting in Paris. But you know how boys are… I will send Amelia to fix you up." To his immense relief, his mother left the room. Amelia was his old nurse, one of the few trustworthy servants left in the manor since their family's fall. She would not mind helping him if needed, not that he had any intention of being dragged to Mass in a dress. Outside, Jean Pierre and Amelia were coaxing his mother back to bed.

D'Eon let out a sigh of relief. He stood up. A wave of nausea overtook him as the mirror before him seemed to shift.

"Lia?" He was looking at a blond girl about as old as Lia was when he first became aware of his sister as being more than just a figure in the background of his nursery. She wore a red dress, no, it was a white nightdress streaked red with blood. She was standing forlornly amidst flurries of snow. Blood ran down from her neck. D'Eon was enough of a swordsman to know it was a mortal wound.

_D'Eon…_ A ghostly whisper floated beside his ear as if Lia's spirit hovered uneasily beside him. The ghastly image faded away and he was staring at his own reflection once more.

Jean Pierre rapped on the door. The old man's face was pale. D'Eon's heart sank. _Was it his mother? _

The butler held out a letter bearing the royal seal. After six years, his presence was commanded by the king, Louis XVI. "The carriage was sent for you, sir." The knight glanced out the window and saw the nondescript vehicle and its waiting guards.

* * *

Things had changed since he was last at Versailles. There were many new faces, and a few old, unfriendly ones. Feeling woefully inadequate in his plain country clothes, he was escorted through the crowd of glided courtiers. The former Dauphin had grown into a lanky youth who now sat on the throne, but the true power was with the appointed regent, Duke Burgundy. The duke cared little for the country or the good of his charge. And he hated D'Eon in the belief that he still held the Royal Songs. D'Eon wondered if his luck had run out and he was to be imprisoned or worse.

"De Beaumont, a rather suggestive letter came to us from Russia requesting the presence of a certain outstanding knight. It would seem that you made a lasting impression on a certain Empress the last time you were there," the duke purred. A twitter of laughter ran through the assembly at the innuendo.

"Oh, it's just regarding some family jewel your sister left behind…" the young king piped up. "Perhaps this jewel is of such importance that the Empress would trust only our knight de Beaumont to fetch it back." He gave D'Eon a small boyish smile. "We'll be sending a diplomatic envoy to Russia. You will travel with them, if you would unlock this box which they say hold the truth behind the Royal Songs. Or you could just tell us what happened." D'Eon saw the king held the locked box he had placed his report on his mission in so many years ago. It was to be opened only on the king's majority. D'Eon did not have the key.

"Your Majesty, the truth of that matter may be hard to believe…" D'Eon bowed. "This is an order. You are to give us the key if you will not tell," the boy king pouted. D'Eon could feel the Bastille looming before him. Even now the events seemed almost surreal. He had been possessed by his sister. The late king had killed his sister, good Queen Marie and his beloved Anna. He had slain two good friends, witnessed the death of his teacher… and the terrible power behind the songs.

To his relief, the king broke into a smile. "We suppose we'll have to figure out this one ourselves… You are to leave with the envoy. On retrieving this jewel, you are to return immediately to France." The king was still a child and capable of a child's whims and fancies. He did not have the maturity that some children his age possess, like Robin did. D'Eon wondered why he would think of the page after so many years.

* * *

Miles away in Russia, a young girl stood before the mirror in a darkened room, a candle in hand. _I will go with D'Eon, if he comes_, she traced the letters on the mirror in reverse with a fingertip. Her pale hair was plaited into a golden braid. She waited as the words faded away. _I am well._ _We shall meet again_. The blood-red words floated out before fading away. _Be strong, Max. _She added as an afterthought before quenching the light. They had learnt about the words by chance when she looked into the mirror one morning and saw her name being written. It was a comfort to her and him.

* * *

"How's the boy?" The young boy dashed the cup of water in his hand onto the floor. He feigned sleep when he heard his captors approaching. "Is that infernal chain necessary?" Robespierre growled. The catacombs were a miserable place to be in at the best of times. The dim light cast by the torches danced on his copper red hair. In his hand, he clasped his precious book.

"Sorry, sir. He keeps trying to get away…" the warden grovelled. He was relived to be dismissed with a wave of the hand. Robespierre was not one to cross lightly despite his apparent youth.

"Unchain him. Where's the other one? We need them both," he hissed. "The poets in Russia messed up," Lorenza spoke up. "The other one died. _He _slashed her across the throat." The boy flinched at her words. He didn't mean to hurt Lia. He scrunched his eyes together and curled up into a ball. The chain on his ankle tugged painfully as he did so.

_The old cavalry sword was too heavy for his small hands. Something was very wrong. The servants were acting strange, even Nanny. They were lurching towards them like broken puppets. They were going to hurt them. He had to protect his sister. Papa and Mama were just lying before the fireplace. So much blood, he couldn't bear to look at them. Nanny was coming for him, hands outstretched like claws. He swung. "Max, no!" she leapt between them, arms outstretched, facing him. The blade cut an arc across her neck. He could feel her blood splash on his face and hands even as his twin fell onto the floor. Then there came the voice and Nanny simply exploded, as did the other servants… _

"Have those disappointments be dealt with?" Robespierre decided that the time spent educating those dissatisfied nobles in poetry had been a waste of energy. "Naturally, Robin my boy," it was Cagliostro. The man was drunk again. "Don't ever call me by that name," Robespierre warned.

"Winter in Russia sure is hell," Lorenza muttered. Sensing the change in their master's mood, she took her companion's arm and dragged him away. Robespierre glanced at the child. The child had been ill for much of the hard journey from Russia. Even now, he was thin and pale. The redhead undid the chain. Any longer in it and the child risked losing his foot. It was that tight.

"Oh, get up." The boy obeyed the command readily. Robespierre gasped. He was looking at a face which was almost familiar to him. The boy gingerly massaged his sore ankle and stared at him through solemn blue eyes. The grime-streaked hair was pale blond, like Maximilien Robespierre's was. In the dim light, it had faded to sand-blond. The boy looked more like a miniature version of Sir D'Eon than anyone else.

"Your name, boy?" he had to be gentle with the child.

"M-ma…xi…m-milien," the boy stuttered and drew his knees up to his chin. "I-is that a Bible?" he asked when he saw the book in Robespierre's hand. "Well, no. Do you wish to take a look?" Robespierre asked. The boy nodded eagerly. His suspicions were confirmed the moment the child had the book in his hand and opened it. Words floated onto the pages, garbled, cryptic and smudged. However, the child seemed entranced by the contents.

"I-it is a h-hard book to read…." The boy admitted when he finally looked up. "The w-words, t-they keep moving."

"How old are you?"

"S-six y-years and t-three months… I t-think…it has been a while since they locked me up…" the boy's fear lessened. He shut the book and offered it back to the man. Robespierre did not take it. "Keep it, Milien. It's your book." The late Maximilien Robespierre had unknowingly left behind a blood-heir. That was why despite it being bequeathed to him, he had been unable to make sense of the words.

_Through the shed blood of royal kin will the seal be opened. Through mingled blood of brother and sister the psalms to ash turned…_ Thus went the prophecy he had glimpsed in the pages. If the other child had indeed perished, it might be to their benefit.

Robespierre glanced at the floor and went pale. _Be strong, Max_. The childish words glinted damply on the stones.

_Could the bond between the twins rival that between D'Eon and his sister?_ They would have to watch Milien closely.

**Author's Notes:**

This fic is a continuation of the anime with Robin taking over where Maximilien Robespierre left off with the Revolutionary Brethren and the Psalms. Dauphin Auguste is now King Louis XVI of France. D'Eon's spy career has stagnated after the end of the anime.

If Lia had kids, who do you think the father will be but Maximilien Robespierre? She certainly was not attracted to poor Durand that way.


	2. Resurrected to Life

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

I confess that I have been reading up on medieval to Revolution era stuff, including Dickens' Tale of 2 Cities, Rose of Versailles and the 3 Musketeers.

**Chapter 2 – Resurrected to Life**

Easter Sunday found D'Eon in St Petersburg. The new French ambassador was an elderly knight who seemed destined to die in Russia from drink or illness. The regent probably sent him there as a form of exile. Jean Pierre had reassured him that they would care for his mother in his absence. Good old Jean Pierre. After much waiting in the embassy, a page came to announce that the Empress was ready to grant him a private audience.

He was kept waiting for an uncomfortably long time before a handsome guardsman ushered him into the private reception hall where his sister's portrait still hung after all these years. The Empress herself stood before the portrait. D'Eon dropped to his knee.

"D'Eon de Beaumont, rise. It has been a long time," the Empress said. She was older now, with fine lines on her face. Before D'Eon could make a suitable reply, a blond streak burst in through an adjourning door.

"Natalia! Stop there!" an elderly matron demanded as she followed brandishing a rod. The child ran round the stunned knight, dropping pieces of torn paper, before choosing to seek refuge behind the copious skirts of the Empress. "What happened this time?" the Empress asked in exasperation. The harried nurse dropped a curtsy. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty, the child got into the library… I'm afraid she damaged some of the books."

"I was trying to find out how I can get to France!" the girl Natalia protested. The face that peered at D'Eon was exactly like his sister when she was a child. Her hair was a shade paler than Lia's was.

"D'Eon, this is your sister's child, Natalia… you better hear the full story from Dowager Olga here," the Empress smiled as she untangled the child from her skirts. D'Eon saw that the matron was that from his dream.

"Is this my uncle D'Eon? You look just like the angel," the little girl asked.

"What angel?" D'Eon asked.

"That angel," she pointed at Lia's portrait. "She healed me and told me to get help…" she traced the ugly scar across her neck. It should have killed her, D'Eon thought.

"She walked out in front of our carriage that day. It was snowing heavily and our driver almost ran her over," the Empress said. "Our guards found everyone else in the house dead, even the family's servants and dogs. They say blood was everywhere. We weren't even sure how many were killed. She was the only one alive."

"No, they took Max with them. They took my brother to France," the girl interrupted with the candour of youth. Her blue-green eyes were solemn. She took D'Eon's had in hers.

* * *

"Your sister was very far gone when she arrived in Russia. I have no idea how she intended to deal with the baby when it came," the Dowager Olga sipped at her wine. The exuberant child had finally been cajoled away with cake and a book. She now sat in the Empress' parlour reading aloud to the Empress while D'Eon took the chance to speak with the old woman who had attended to Lia during childbirth.

"She went into labour during a chess game with her blessed Majesty Elizaveta. They were close enough by then for the Empress to invite her to her villa for a weekend. Only a few other guests were there, including me. The Empress sent everyone else away, claiming a contagion. Only trusted servants were left to attend to your sister. I've attended many births. She had a difficult one. We didn't even know if she would pull through. When the babies were born, we asked if she would like to hold them… that girl, she broke my heart… God bless her soul," the dowager dabbed at some stray tears.

"She begged us not to show them to her, for fear she could not bear to give them up… She was an unmarried woman, wasn't she? Probably terrified what her family would have to say. Her Majesty promised to find a good family for the children. _'I'll think of them as dead,'_ she said and wept when we took them away. She was still very weak when she was called back to France. I knew the Perraults well, young man. They were good people. French emigrants turned Russian citizens. Monsieur Perrault was a retired cavalryman, once served under Empress Elizaveta. His wife, a music teacher. They were childless and more than willing to care for the twins even without the stipend due to them as wards of the Imperial Russian court. They did not deserve to die like that," the dowager's voice took on a hard edge.

"Why have I been told this after so long?" D'Eon asked. The old woman shrugged. "If circumstances had allowed, we would have them raised as the Perraults' children. Let your sister take her little secret to her grave and keep it there. But things have changed now. The Empress' court is not as stable as one would wish. Do you believe in the power of words, sir knight?" the old woman asked.

D'Eon nodded solemnly. "I hear from the servants that strange letters were scrawled on the walls of the Perrault's home. Poets. I trust you are aware of the Revolutionary Brethren... and the danger they still pose… that girl should have died! If they are after this child, I don't want her anywhere near the Empress for the sake of Mother Russia," Olga concluded. Her lips were drawn in a grim line. D'Eon's mouth went dry. He saw in Olga's eyes the determination equal to that of any loyal knight of the old ways. She would gladly strangle her charge if it were for the good of her Empress and motherland. Just as his old teacher would gladly sacrifice him for the good of France.

"_And God saidth, this is My Son, whom I am pleased with…"_ Natalia's voice drifted from the adjoining room. She sounded eerily like Lia did as a child.

* * *

Bringing a child into the French embassy would raise eyebrows. Bringing a 6-year-old girl with an uncanny resemblance to one invited gossip and speculation. "Did you bed some young lady the last time you were in town?" one hapless scribe ventured before he was chastised into silence by D'Eon's deadly glare. "What an adorable child!" the merry-faced wife of a guardsman exclaimed.

"Aw, she looks just like her papa!" some young noblewoman added. D'Eon rolled his eyes. He was past explaining now. By dinner, D'Eon and his 'daughter' had become the latest gossip titbit in the embassy. He could be sure someone would mention it in some letter on its way back to France.

* * *

Robespierre wondered what had possessed him to take that damned boy under his wing. True, the boy would be able to decipher the mysteries within the psalms someday. For now, he was still a child, a child who reminded him of his own past. He had the boy cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes, since Lorenza and Cagliostro had apparently been negligent in his care. Fritz Milien was the name he gave to the child to hide his identity. The boy readily agreed to the new name he was bestowed with, his earnest little face beaming as he nodded.

With those shoulder-length pale tresses, he looked a bit like his father, Maximilien Robespierre. His face, however, was like his mother's and his uncle's. He did not have the shrewdness or calm of his father. The little brat was like a curious puppy in the streets of Paris once he had been liberated from his catacomb prison. After suffering ill-treatment by his captors, he clearly saw Robespierre as god-sent.

"Monsieur Robespierre, sir… could I have an apple please?" The boy had stopped before a fruit vendor's cart. "Of course, Milien…" Robespierre replied and dug into his purse.

"_Merci_…" the boy bowed. It was an almost courtly gesture, out of place in a busy marketplace. The foster family had taught him French well. The lad was a quick learner. Robespierre had caught him saying a few rude words in Italian, courtesy of the drunkard Cagliostro. He was a bright child, and readily malleable. Though he was prone to sneaking off alone at times, he always returned to Robespierre's side without fail like some faithful hunting hound.

A wine cask rolled off a cart as it was being unloaded and shattered on the street. Wine flowed and an eager crowd of poor peasants gathered to enjoy the spoils before the tavern-keeper realized what was happening. Some even went down on all fours to lick the liquid from the stones. Gaunt mothers dipped rags into the liquid so that they may squeeze the precious drops into the mouths of their whimpering infants. It was a hard time in France and things would get harder. The boy watched in fascination as he held his guardian's hand. "Why do they drink spilled wine from the streets, sir?"

"Because they are too poor to buy it from the tavern."

"Why are they so poor?"

"Because both king and church tax them heavily," Robespierre replied. The lad was sharp. "Looks like spilled blood, sir," Milien shuddered visibly and pressed close to him, burying his face into the scribe's coat. Maybe some latent memory of his family's deaths lingered in some dark recess of his mind.

* * *

_We sha__ll meet again…_ D'Eon stared in amazement at the words which had apparently appeared on the mirror in Natalia's room at the embassy. For one moment, he thought it was his sister. The hand was that of a child and he wondered if Natalia had been up to some obscure mischief. The girl was asleep on her bed. The bedclothes pulled up to her chin for the embassy was draughty. Her blond hair fanned out like a golden halo. She looked like Lia did as a child, an innocent sleeping angel.

On an impulse, he touched the wet words and sniffed at his fingers when they came away red. They smelled of cheap wine. The old battle-axe of a dowager had described the girl's wayward antics as if she were an imp straight from the pits of hell. _Swims in the local river, writing on the mirrors, running off… and the poor horses, _the dowager threw up her hands in dismay. D'Eon wondered if his niece could have sneaked the wine into her room somehow from the embassy's kitchens. The arrangements have been made. They would leave for home in the morning. D'Eon wondered how he could explain little Natalia to his mother.

* * *

Miles away in Paris, Natalia's twin curled up in his cot, grateful for a warm fire and the comforting presence of his protector working over a nearby desk. The wine they had for dinner made him a little drowsy. "Goodni…" he yawned and dropped off to sleep. Robespierre looked up from his work and cursed himself when he saw the child sleeping with his hand still clasped over his precious book of Psalms. The child was only a key to deciphering the book, nothing more, he told himself firmly.

**Author's Notes:**

Natalia – the Russian version of the French name Natalie. Natalia's twin brother refers to her as Lia. He now has a new name, Fritz Milien.

D'Eon's reputation is taking a serious beating here. The spilled wine scene is taken from the Tale of 2 Cities before the Defarges' tavern.


	3. Adieu, Lia

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

The story has already started. A cameo from Lia herself in here, and maybe Maximilien Sr later.

**Chapter 3 – Adieu, Lia**

"Boy sings like an angel," Cagliostro remarked as he enjoyed a meat pie. Lorenza nodded. In Robespierre's absence, Milien had decided to contribute to their meager funds by singing in the street. The milling crowds stopped to listen to the child sing. Milien had decided on a repertoire of Russian songs, which were very well-received. The hat at his feet boasted a fair number of coins from the better-heeled members of his audience. The words may be foreign, but they were strangely beautiful. At a mournful song, not a single dry eye could be seen in the crowd. Even the hardened pair dabbed their eyes. "It's like he's charming them with his voice," Lorenza admitted.

"Bet he's worth a fortune to the Church as a castrati or maybe one of those pleasure houses down south with that pretty face… Yikes!" the alchemist yelped as a smoking bullet-hole appeared on the bench between his legs. Robespierre joined the pair as he kept his pistol in his coat. He placed a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese on the table. "The boy is under my protection. If anything happens to him while in your care, I assure you that singing high notes will be the least of your worries."

"Master!" the boy spotted his guardian. Milien bowed, swept up the collected coins and ran towards them. "Could these help them, sir?"

"Help who?"

"The poor…" the boy replied innocently. "It will take more than a few coins to change things, Milien," Robespierre allowed the boy to sit beside him and hacked off a slice of bread for him.

* * *

If one thing D'Eon thought he had learnt from his brief career in the Secret Police, it was the best-laid plans would definitely go wrong. Obviously the lesson had slipped his mind. Approaching the French border, their solitary coach was set upon by brigands while passing through a forest. A lucky shot had killed their driver. The guard managed to hit one robber before he too fell. Their fellow passenger, a jovial merchant, tried to flee for his life and was promptly fell by pistol fire. His wife screeched as the crazed horses reared. She tumbled out of the coach in a blind panic even as one of the brigands seized control of the reins. A bandit's sword thrust ended her screams.

D'Eon knew these were desperate men who had no intention of leaving any witnesses to their crime. He drew his sword. With one arm, he lifted his niece out of the vehicle as pistol shots whizzed past them. They were using flintlock pistols, like those favoured by his one-time page. They would need time to reload. He had been counting the shots. "_Run_," he hissed as he dropped her onto her feet, sensing a lull in the fire. He estimated that there were only three of them, maybe four left. He could hold them off long enough for Natalia to flee.

The child nodded and ran, but her long skirts and soft shoes hindered her escape. She promptly tumbled into a pile of brambles and became hopelessly entangled.

"_Natalia_!" D'Eon yelled. Her long blond tresses were snared by the thorns. The more she fought, the worse it became. D'Eon slashed open the belly of one bandit and took the arm off another. He had to keep them away from Natalia. A pistol ball nicked his calf. He had hesitated too long. One of them had reloaded his pistol. Then that familiar sensation came upon him. _Lia._ He was no longer in control of his sword. Lia was. He sensed a burning rage. Wearily, he allowed his sister to take over. Blood flew. There was no need for any poems this time.

* * *

"D'Eon, you have got yourself into a fine mess, as usual…" Lia's chiding voice roused him. He opened his eyes. He was seated on a bench which seemed to be from their garden back home. She was standing before him, a phantom in the moonlight. _Had night fallen already?_ She was dressed as she was when he saw her that dreadful day, same hair, same red gown.

"Lia, how… why are you not at rest?" he asked.

"My duty as a mother called me. I'm here to say goodbye. This is the last time I use you as my vessel, D'Eon. Promise me you'll care for Natalia. My possessing your body has already done enough damage, even though it has not shown yet," she bent over him. Her hand brushed against his cheek.

"Is she…" he coughed. He had to ask her. "Maximilien Robespierre's child," Lia nodded. "You should've figured it out by now. Durand was only a dear friend to me. Max was the only man I loved from the bottom of my heart," she said wistfully. "My poor children, their fates are entwined with the Psalms… It is by the grace of the Songs that my daughter still lives."

"Damn the Psalms… Lia, about your son… I promise I will find…" Lia gently placed her thumb and forefinger on his lips, pressing them together. "Fear not for him, D'Eon. Little Maximilien has already found himself a protector. Oh, and promise me that if you should meet a certain old friend, kindly refrain from killing him, no matter what provocation he gives you. Adieu, my dearest brother." She planted a kiss on his cheek. "Promise…" D'Eon murmured.

* * *

D'Eon awoke. He was standing with a bloodied sword in his hand. The sun was still up. The slain bandits were lying in their own blood. He and Natalia were the only survivors. He waded into the brambles where the poor child was screaming curses in both Russian and French consigning her dress and shoes to hell. The child quietened when he got to her.

"Hold still," he fished out his dagger and hacked away at the tangled blond hair. They would need to do something about her hair later. Apart from scratches and wounded pride, Natalia was unharmed. On being freed from the thorns, the girl tore off the tattered remnants of her skirt up to the thigh. "What are you doing?" D'Eon asked. They had a long walk to the nearest town or inn to get help, though one look told D'Eon their fellow travellers were beyond all mortal aid.

"Horses," Natalia pointed at the whinnying coach horses milling about aimlessly. "Can you ride?" she asked. D'Eon almost laughed. Natalia was sharp. No doubt her cavalryman foster father had taught her to ride. They would make better time on mounts, given his injuries. D'Eon checked himself over. He had received a gash on his leg and another on his arm, not counting the scratches from the thorns. Natalia was trying to climb onto one of the horses. Her uncle lifted her onto the beast's back. She settled astride the horse.

She started singing softly as they plodded off, mindful of the dangers that might await them on the road. D'Eon understood the words. It was a hymn beseeching God's mercy for the dead.

* * *

"Now you have done it!" Lorenza shrieked. Master Robespierre was going to kill them for sure on his return. "It was an accident! I didn't know it was loaded," Cagliostro exclaimed. "Maybe we should run off before…"

"Fool! Robespierre'll have his poets on us in no time! We're doomed either way," Lorenza shouted. The boy looked dead already. His breath came in weak gasps. The dreadful stain on his shirt kept spreading as he lay there on the floor.

It had started innocently enough. Cagliostro had misplaced his bottle of wine in Robespierre's room. Finding the younger man out at a meeting, he had taken the liberty of rummaging though his belongings in the hope of finding something of value. Never mind that Robespierre had long learnt that his two closest companions were petty thieves and that he should not tempt them with unguarded valuables. This evening, he had forgotten one of his pistols. When the alchemist was examining it, the thing went off, just as young Milien came in through the door. The shot took him full in the chest as he stood in the doorway.

"He's dead already!" Lorenza yelled. _No, he couldn't be dead…_ Milien fought to lift his head. It hurts so much. He wanted to see his sister. He hadn't finished the book Master Robespierre gave him… they were going to the Notre Dame cathedral tomorrow…

"_Sure you want to live, boy?"_ a voice said quietly. Milien saw him, a blond man standing behind the panicked alchemist and his woman. _"You could just let go if it hurts so much…"_ his tone was almost mocking.

Milien shook his head. He wanted to live. "_Then take the power of the songs_," the blond man said. Lorenza suddenly shuddered. "What's the matter?" the alchemist asked. "I sense him. He is here… oh!" she yelped as the child grabbed hold of her hand. Glowing words floated from the woman's body to the mortally wounded child. It only took a heartbeat.

"Lorenza!" The blond woman fainted into the alchemist's arms. Milien sat up and shook his head. There was still blood on his shirt. He gingerly peeked down it. There was only an ugly red mark where the shot had pierced him, nothing more. It didn't even hurt. "I guess I better change my shirt," he said and rose shakily to his feet. "Master Robespierre need not know about this." He gave the pair an eerie smile before stepping into the room and shutting the door on them.

Lorenza opened her eyes and glanced at her hands. She tore open her blouse and looked at her bosom. "Darling, isn't it a bit too open out here for that?" her companion asked. "No, the songs. He gave the songs to that child. Maximilien Robespierre. His spirit was here just now…" Lorenza shouted. She sensed a definite lessening of her powers.

"I should have died…" Milien murmured in the safety of the room he shared with his protector. He pulled the bloodied shirt over his head and tossed it into the fire. He felt different somehow. Still shirtless, he opened the window. He could see the ugliness of Paris outside. He missed his sister badly. She would be there soon.

* * *

The de Beaumont estate was on the sprawling outskirts of Paris. It was late at night when the travelers finally reached home. D'Eon carried a sleeping Natalia in his arms as he stepped out of their hired coach. He passed the child to Amelia before assisting his old butler in unloading the little luggage they had.

"They say you sired a child in Russia, young master…" his butler whispered. "Is there any truth to it?" D'Eon shook his head. The news had reached home.

"Forgive me, sir, but I was thinking… for the sake of your mother, you should think of settling down properly…" Jean Pierre said solemnly as he helped D'Eon out of his boots and coat. Other masters might have their servants whipped for such insolence, but not the de Beaumonts.

"Sorry, Jean Pierre. I've not yet met a girl I like since Anna," he smiled sadly. He had failed Anna. _If they had been more careful, retrieved the Songs sooner, would she have been spared? _

"I believe Lady Anna would like for you to find happiness, Sir D'Eon," Amelia added. She had settled the child in Lia's old bedroom. "She was such a dear, sweet girl… pray tell, who that little angel you brought home from Russia is? She looks just like Mademoiselle Lia did as a child."

"Lia's daughter. Her name is Natalia." As his servants let loose amazed gasps, D'Eon sat back in his chair. On recovering himself, Jean Pierre took out the bandages and ointment to change the soiled bandages on his master's wounds. Amelia would be brewing her concoction of brandied tea in the kitchen for him, after which she would attend to his torn clothes.

**Author's Notes: **

Castrati – castrated male choir singer. They used castrate choir boys to keep their voices from breaking on puberty. This practice declined in the late 18th century, which is probably about shortly after the time the anime is set.

Robespierre is feeling a little protective of his charge here. He has reason to be. Milien is still too innocent for his own good. The twins are in Paris now. Possible reunion? Meeting between D'Eon and his old friend? Historical D'Eon was a member of the French mounted infantry (dragoons). He had to know how to ride a horse since that was the main form of transport in those days. The conventional way for ladies of the era to ride is side-saddle, with both legs on the same side (probably due to their skirts). Natalia's decision to ride astride like a boy is the reason why she tore up her skirts.

(Grin) Next mission: get D'Eon in a dress and attend court as himself. (D'Eon: *dies of embarrassment*)


	4. Meeting in Paris

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 4 – Meeting in Paris**

"Lia! Get down from there!"

D'Eon's dreams of happier times with his comrades were rudely shattered by his mother's screams. He pulled on his breeches and opened his bedroom window to find his niece perched precariously up the apple tree. The child was only wearing her nightgown. His mother was waving frantically from his sister's bedroom window. The girl must have been surprised by the appearance of her poor grandmother to attempt an escape out of the window. It was a six feet jump from the sill to the nearest branch. His sister had managed it once at age eight on a dare. Young D'Eon attempted the leap with less success, winding up hanging from the roof eaves by his fingertips until his alarmed father hauled him in. Both siblings were soundly spanked.

Natalia had not only made the leap. She had scampered almost to the very top of the old apple tree. She looked like a scared kitten amidst the sea of white apple blossoms.

"D'Eon! Your sister is stuck in the tree. Do something!" In her confused state, Madame de Beaumont failed to register that her younger son was a fully grown man in his twenties while her supposed daughter was still a child. A ladder and a good deal of coaxing finally got Natalia down. "Why?" the girl asked as he carried her back indoors. She was barefoot and he did not want her to hurt herself on any sharp stones.

"Sorry, Natalia. Your grandma is, well, a little unsettled by your mother's death…" D'Eon said quietly. Throughout their long journey from Russia, he had amused her with little anecdotes of her mother. The girl knew her mother was dead, though he did not go into the details surrounding her death. That was too dark for a child her age. Still, she had witnessed the deaths of her foster family and the kidnapping of her brother…

"Why does she call me Lia? Only Max calls me that …" the girl started crying into his shoulder. "Because you look just like your mother, Natalia…" the uncle kissed the top of her head. The girl smelled of spring apple blossoms. "Can we look for Max, please?" She wanted to meet him. They had contacted each other several times but with the constant travel it was difficult. Max also admitted that he was taking lessons from a teacher whose name he did not mention. Natalia figured he would be tired after his lessons.

* * *

If there was a bond that could not be severed, it was that between the twins. Natalia had insisted that they go to the grand cathedral of Notre Dame the minute they entered the city. Her uncle had no objections. Milien's guardian took him to the cathedral en route to a meeting with some of his comrades in the Revolutionary Brethren. It was to their great surprise when both children suddenly broke into a mad headlong dash.

"Max!"

"Lia!"

The pair ran the through the dim cathedral, with their alarmed guardians hot on their heels. "Max!" Natalia hugged her brother fiercely, almost knocking him off his feet. "Lia! You're alive!" Milien felt his twin's face with his hands. "Sorry, does it hurt?" he traced the scar on her throat. "No, mother healed me… I can't wait to tell you… Uncle told me so much about her!" Natalia was delirious with joy. "What happened to your hair, Lia? You look like a boy!" Milien laughed. His sister's hair was cropped short after her misadventure with the brambles. Natalia had worn D'Eon's boyhood clothes rather than her dress as she insisted on riding into town on horseback. The pair looked like two peas from a pod.

Their guardians caught up to them. "Robin," D'Eon's eyes narrowed. Robin had disappeared for three years before re-emerging. The youth was taller now, and thin. His red hair was a bit longer now and he wore the dark clothes of a scribe. However, D'Eon was not fooled. "Sir D'Eon," Robespierre folded his arms in contempt. "I no longer go by that name." The knight stood for the detested nobility. Sensing the change in the atmosphere, the children had gone quiet. Their arms were still wrapped round each other.

"Master Robespierre?" Max queried.

"Come now, Fritz Milien," Robespierre said. D'Eon raised an eyebrow. Young Max reluctantly let go of his sister. D'Eon saw he had a book in his coat. He could guess what book it was. "Sorry, Lia… I must go," the boy looked from his waiting guardian to his sister. "Max…" Natalia pleaded. "He can live with us, can't he?" she turned to her uncle. Those eyes were exactly like her mother's.

D'Eon nodded. "Max, you are always welcome to live with us," the knight said. His eyes were on Robespierre, who had placed a pale hand on the boy's shoulder. "It is up to Max to choose, Robin. You cannot tell him what to do," D'Eon said quietly. He stepped up behind his niece. He had promised his sister to protect Natalia.

"Then let him speak for himself," Robespierre said. "S-sorry, I can't go with you…" Milien slowly backed away towards his master. His eyes were teary. His place was with Master Robespierre. With a smirk, the redhead took the child's hand and led him deeper into the shadowed recesses of the cathedral. "Max, we will meet again!" Natalia called out after him. "I swear this, no, I know this!"

Her throat hurt. Natalia clasped at her neck. At the same instant, her brother clutched at his chest, causing Robespierre's step to falter. "Is something wrong?" There was a tinge of concern.

"No, sir…" the sharp pain had passed. The pair continued towards their secret meeting. Robespierre hustled the lad out through a small side door and across a filthy square and down an alley before emerging into a small courtyard. They entered a dim coffeehouse where a number of disillusioned intellectuals had gathered. Robespierre recognised some poets among them. "Jean Paul," he sat down next to one of them. "Is it done?" The poet nodded. "Our English friend has met with the King. Copies of the document are being circulated." The truth about the death of Queen Marie the good would be revealed to all. _Pity about his old friend though._

"Natalia… your neck," D'Eon noticed a tiny bloodstain on her shirt near the collar. She touched her scar. It had stopped bleeding. The pain had ceased. Her uncle was too quiet. They stopped to light a candle and pray before the altar before he ushered her out into the sunlight.

* * *

Tired of listening to the raucous arguments and the smoky interior, Milien slipped out into the courtyard. A gaggle of barefoot children his age were playing there. "Hi, are you Master Robespierre's page?" a skinny boy asked. "Maybe…" Milien replied. Soon he was among them, laughing and gambolling. The children never saw the horseman coming. He was drunk and riding too fast for such a narrow street. Terrified passers-by leapt clear into doorways or against the buildings. Then he thundered into the small courtyard. The viscomte's horse reared, spooked. The hooves came down hard on a small child too slow to get away.

"You've killed her!" Milien yelled. The horseman spun around to face his accuser. On seeing it was only a boy, he drew his sword. "Silence, knave!" The rapier stabbed towards him. Milien scrunched his face up in anticipation. There was no pain.

"Viscomte d'Lorraine, please forgive my thoughtless apprentice," Master Robespierre's voice caused him to open his eyes. His master was half-kneeling in front of him. The viscomte's blade was cutting into his hand where he had grasped it and drawn it away from his ward. The nobleman hiccupped and took another swig from his wine bottle. He studied his rapier before sheathing it. "You've soiled my sword," he kicked out at the scribe. Robespierre took it full in the jaw.

The viscomte tossed a gold coin at the dead child's mother, who was weeping over the limp body in her arms. "Here!" Laughing, the noble trotted off. The coin clinked onto the cobblestones where another child, possibly an older sibling of the dead girl, picked it up. She slipped it into her grimy apron, her face as expressionless as a porcelain doll.

"He killed her…" Milien repeated. "Master, you are hurt…" he reached out to touch the older man's injured hand. It was his writing hand too. Robespierre was binding it with his handkerchief. "Why?" It was senseless.

"Why? Because that is the way it is now, Milien," Robespierre ruffled the boy's blond hair with his good hand. "The common people are too weak. The nobles hold the power of life and death over the commoners… The king's word is absolute…"

"Things will change, wouldn't it? People are equal in the eyes of the Lord above. I don't see the reason why one man should have power over another…" Milien said. "Yes, there is no reason…" Robespierre admitted. He pulled the boy indoors. They need not have any prying eyes or ears to report them. "When you are older, Milien, you will be able to change things, that I am sure…" The boy nodded. His finger traced the intricate patterns on the cover of his precious book. He did not notice a shimmering where he had traced and the pattern changing slightly.

* * *

"Is she someone special to you?" Natalia asked when they stopped by Anna's grave on their way home. D'Eon nodded. The little girl placed a hand on the gravestone and closed her eyes. "She was a kind, gentle girl, wasn't she?" she smiled. "I wish I could have met her, uncle."

"So do I," D'Eon replied as he placed the flowers he brought on her grave. Sir Durand's grave lay in his hometown further south. Master Teillagory's grave was some miles away, in that unassuming village he hailed from. He had been buried beside his ancestors and his son. "Lady Anna, I am Natalia de Beaumont," Natalia dropped a small bow. D'Eon had already decided to adopt her into the de Beaumont household. "You will watch over Uncle D'Eon wouldn't you?" she added cheekily. "You're his guardian angel now."

"Natalia!" D'Eon admonished. He could almost hear Anna's girlish giggle in his mind. It still hurt to think of her.

* * *

D'Eon knew something was amiss when they rode up to their gate. A small group of French soldiers were there to greet them. D'Eon recognized the captain leading them. De Janiere was no friend of the de Beaumonts. "Guards, arrest that man!"

D'Eon was almost yanked bodily off his horse. Old Jean Pierre was on his knees near the gate, nursing a badly bruised face. He prayed his mother and old Amelia were alright. He glanced at Natalia. The terrified girl slipped off her horse.

"What has he done?" she asked innocently. "Blasphemy, agitation, treason…" the captain droned out a list of crimes. "You lie," Natalia shouted. "Insolent brat!" a soldier smacked her across the face, stunning her momentarily and sending her sprawling into the dirt. "So this is your bastard, D'Eon de Beaumont? I can see he has the same loose tongue as well as your looks," the captain jeered. "Take him away!" he pointed at D'Eon.

"D'Eon!" That voice turned D'Eon's blood to ice. It was his mother. "Please, don't take my son!" Madame de Beaumont begged and grabbed at the boot of a mounted soldier. She was rewarded with a punishing kick that sent her flying into Amelia, who had come running after her mistress. D'Eon saw a flicker in his niece's eyes. Her pale lips started moving. Alarmed, he shook himself free of his captors. It was the same feeling he always got when Lia was about to use a poem. "Natalia, don't…" he threw his arms around her and whispered into her hair. The girl stiffened before relaxing as if in a swoon.

"Take care of Grandma please…" he whispered. She nodded before the guards pulled him away. D'Eon dreaded to think what his poor mother must be feeling as she watched her son being bound and marched off like a common criminal.

**Author's Notes:**

These events will definitely influence the twins. Relax, I have no intention of killing D'Eon off here. He's just in for some discomfort.

Robin/Robespierre doing his instigating in a coffeehouse? They didn't have Starbucks back then, but some 18th century coffeehouses are places for people to meet and discuss politics and (hopefully) not get caught. They were sometimes called 'penny universities'. Pay for your drink, then listen in or lecture on any topic (and pray you don't get booed off the counter).


	5. Poor Knight's Ballad

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 5 – Poor Knight's Ballad**

_They have taken Uncle away… The soldiers wrecked almost everything in the house looking for something. They didn't find it. _

_No news of Uncle yet. I am worried… Amelia wouldn't let me leave the house. Grandma is sick with worry._

_Please, Max. Is there any news? _

The pleas from his sister kept appearing on the mirror in his room or on the walls throughout the long journey he took with his Master. If Master Robespierre noticed anything amiss, he did not say. As they became more desperate, the words started manifesting themselves on nearby windows, tabletops, or even within the pages of his precious book.

_Away travelling. Will meet you soon as we return to Paris. Promise I will look out for news…_ His master did not reveal any news to him regarding his uncle. _Please, Max, I must meet with you… _

_Found something. Meet me at Notre Dame Cathedral tomorrow morning_, he finally scrawled one night. That was how the pair came to be perched on a narrow catwalk on the cathedral overlooking the city. For a moment, they simply sat leaning into each other as the wind whipped at their hair and faces. Finally the boy spoke.

"What is he charged with?" he asked. Master Robespierre now worked as a courthouse scribe.

"Treason, blasphemy… there'll be no trial, will there?" Natalia asked. Milien picked up a faded news broadsheet he had obtained the night before at a coffeehouse and thrust it at her. "They have some crazy story about something that happened some six years ago. About how King Louis XV poisoned his queen and the queen dabbling in black magic. They say the story came from uncle."

"But Uncle will never do something like that! The king, his country, they mean everything to him."

"Yeah, but he's a noble, like the rest of them," Milien scowled. He had been travelling with his master, that alchemist and Lorenza through the French countryside. He had seen for himself how bad things were beyond Paris. Natalia paled as she pored over the broadsheet. It also mentioned the murder of one Lady Anna Rochefort, Lady Lia de Beaumont… "If he were angry at the royals for causing their deaths, why wait till now? He has to look after Grandma and me… Max, are you listening?" Milien was looking at his book.

"Lia, this book has some terrible secrets inside. Uncle D'Eon did nothing wrong, but he knows too much… It is the power of words…" Milien closed the book. "Lia, would you like to live with Master Robespierre and me? Master Robespierre is smart, he could help us. You don't have to live with some sick old noblewoman…"

"She's family, Max. She can be very nice when she's not ill." Natalia smiled at the memory of her grandmother trying to coax her into eating, reading her stories at bedtime and other little things that could have been left to Amelia. Madame de Beaumont had thankfully slipped off into her own little world after the shock of seeing her son arrested.

"All nobles are mean, Lia. They are all big bullies, especially the king. I suppose it was the king who decided Uncle D'Eon had to disappear," Milien clenched his fists. "Natalia, I don't want to be a noble. I don't want you to be a noble… I never saw it before in Russia, but mama and papa were not nobles. They weren't Russian even. I don't mean our real papa and mama. You do know about that, do you? I overheard them talking one night… Our real parents were French nobles who probably didn't want us in the first place."

"I'm talking about uncle here, Max. Not father or mother. Uncle D'Eon's a knight. He promised to take care of us and I trust him!"

"That's the worst type of noble. King tells you to do something and you got to do it even if it means killing a friend. Master Robespierre told me that," Milien glanced up at the statues of the Biblical kings on the cathedral's façade. "Ask him if he has killed any friends before…"

"Max!" Natalia undid her cravat so that he could see the scar on her neck. It was a low shot and she knew it. "Please… I want him back. Grandma needs him," she pleaded.

"He may be dead already. It has been four months since he was taken away," Milien traced a word into the wall just as Lorenza had taught him. He closed his eyes and waited. "He is alive, Max," Natalia said. "He is being held somewhere he can't escape from." She stood next to him and traced her own words into the wall, erasing his. "The Lord is our Shepherd, our Strength and Guide," she intoned. "His mercy knows no bounds. If these words were what started it, we shall use words to save him."

"Very well, Lia," Milien resignedly re-tied the cravat at her neck so that her scar was hidden. "Let's write a ballad for a poor knight."

* * *

D'Eon de Beaumont was very much alive but thoroughly miserable. His tower cell was relatively comfortable with a raised pallet for a bed, a wooden table and chair in the corner under a slit of a window. He had not been chained. Food was regularly brought to him and water for washing. The chamber pot was emptied every other day. This was the type of cell used for prisoners of importance.

He did not know if he was to be tried. He did not know how long he was to be held. He had established that the hulking jailer was a deaf-mute under strict orders not to communicate with him. They had relieved him of his sword when he was brought to the Bastille. Apart from receiving a beating on his first day from the captain who had arrested him, he had not been subjected to any physical torture. D'Eon did manage to land a few good punches before they forced him into his cell. It was the endless waiting that did it for him, not knowing what was going on.

He was under no illusions that his young niece or ailing mother would be able to seek his release. Natalia would be seven soon, an age where young noble boys would start learning to fence. He was not sure when Lia persuaded their parents to allow her to learn fencing under Teillagory. He lay on the bed, using his folded coat for a pillow. The few meagre belongings he had with him were on the table. In their younger days, Teillagory often allowed the siblings to spar with the guardsmen at Versailles. De Janiere was one particularly obnoxious guardsman both Lia and D'Eon almost delighted in defeating and humiliating before his contemporaries. Despite all his bluster and threats of hanging, burning or beheading, the captain was also under instructions not to harm him. _The problem was who issued those instructions? _

D'Eon pondered the question. The boy king could have issued them, but he would need the regent's or an elder's backing to carry them out. The acting regent Duke of Burgundy had little to gain by arresting him and not subjecting him to torture over the whereabouts of the Royal Psalms. The unit that carried out his arrest was that assigned to the royal palace at Versailles. There were few nobles with enough power to command them. The fact remained that he had no way of escaping from the Bastille.

* * *

"What is he singing about now?" Cagliostro asked as he stumbled out. Their young charge was at it again. A crowd had gathered to listen. The alchemist rubbed his eyes. There were two children, as like as peas in a pod, singing. "I think I got too much to drink…" He paused and listened to the song. It was a French song in the traditional ballad style.

Lorenza pulled her shawl up as she joined him. "The little one is a fast learner. There's no doubt about that. Maximilien had indeed given him the power of the songs…"

"Who's the other one?" Cagliostro asked. Lorenza shrugged. "His twin sister," Master Robespierre had joined the pair. He quietly listened to the words, cursed and stormed back into the inn. They were singing a ballad about a poor knight who had served his country and king well but was thrown aside for his loyalty. Robespierre knew who they were singing about. Sir D'Eon was still alive, though his sources said he was imprisoned for slandering the late king and queen. If the promise of a family should prove too great, he could lose Milien and the Psalms.

"Those children are such little dears, aren't they?" an English dandy looked up from his papers at Robespierre's entrance. "William, I thought you have left for England," Robespierre said.

"I have returned to France for the sake of seeing the boy who carries the Psalms. If it is true that your boy is the nephew of that knight, it would be a real bit of trouble for you, wouldn't it? But it can be used to our advantage if he can be persuaded to join us…" the young man folded his hands thoughtfully. William was intelligent and a firm believer in the revolution.

"I know that man and his stubbornness is legendary. He cares only for his own selfish notion of loyalty and will not be persuaded."

"Pity then. They say it's darkest before the dawn. I promise you, for equality, liberty and fraternity, our loyal knight will not see the coming dawn," the Jacobin poet replied.

A noble carriage stopped just outside the little cobblestone street leading into the courtyard. "Yvette, do you hear children singing?" a grandly-dressed noblewoman said. "Yes, madam," her blond attendant nodded. "They sing of a wronged knight, madam."

"D'Eon de Beaumont. Have the guards bring the singer to us," she lifted her veil slightly.

"Guards!" a watcher hissed a warning that swept through the street like wildfire. Cagliostro and Lorenza melted into the crowd as they scattered. "Milien!" Robespierre shouted a warning from the window. The boy grabbed his sister's hand to flee with her. He had learned that guards were trouble. Natalia shook her head.

"Sorry, Max, I must stay."

"But they will lock you up like they did uncle!" Milien shouted. "The Lord God is our Shepherd, Max. Trust in Him. His will be done," Natalia said in Russian. "Now go!" The guards had entered the courtyard. Milien nodded and darted into the inn.

* * *

"Is this the child who was singing? What's your name, child?" the grand lady within the carriage asked when Natalia was brought before her. She alighted with the aid of her attendant.

"Nat de Beaumont," Natalia bowed in the manner she had observed during her time in the Russian court. Some inner instinct instructed her to hide her full name and not to offer her true gender. "He's de Beaumont's bastard," one of the guards whispered.

"I can see the resemblance," his mistress snapped impatiently. "You sing of a wronged knight. Are you pleading for your father's freedom? Such an honourable notion. However, he has grievously slandered the Royal Family and ought to be severely punished."

"Yet he still lives. He lives because His Majesty knows he speaks the truth. D'Eon de Beaumont is one who cannot lie even to save his own life," she handed the much faded broadsheet to the attendant. "These words are not his though there is truth to them. Read them, my lady." The grand lady scanned the words on the broadsheet, frowning slightly as she did so.

"The tone in which they are written is greatly different. You are a bright child. Come with us. There is much work to be done," the grand lady said. "Merci," Natalia bowed. Milien watched from the upstairs window as the carriage rolled off with his sister inside.

* * *

"Where's Milien?" Robespierre asked. "Asleep," Lorenza replied. "He was fretting about his sister. We had to drug him," she admitted. He looked past her into the room where the blond child slumbered. The book sat on the bedside table. He walked over and tried lifting it. It refused to budge. The Psalms had chosen Milien over him. "You are serious about killing that man?"

Robespierre nodded. "William has agreed to aid us. It will be neat and tidy, not like the mess you two left in Russia."

"Hey, that wasn't entirely our fault!" Cagliostro protested. "Hush!" Lorenza shushed him and dragged him into their room across the hall. William was sitting by the fire in the large room downstairs. Robespierre joined him. "The guilty shall have no rest…" Robespierre smiled grimly. The Englishman nodded and started chanting. His pen scrapped arcane patterns in the pages of his journal.

* * *

A shaft of moonlight shot into his cell. It glinted off his shaving razor on his table. He had been allowed to keep the blade so that he may shave. D'Eon felt uneasy. It bothered him though he did not know why. He rolled over and tried to sleep.

_D'Eon, why have you killed me?_ D'Eon sat up. That was voice was charged with hatred. It took him a while to realise it was Durand's voice. _You could have saved me instead of cowering like some coward… _

"Durand?" D'Eon gasped at the wraith of the dead knight. Durand stood by the table. His empty coat sleeve hanging bloodied. He bore the wounds D'Eon's sword had left on him. Durand was not alone. He was accompanied by the shades of Master Teillagory and Bernie. A bewildered D'Eon stumbled out of bed, not noticing the pale letters that ran across the floor of his cell. He staggered towards the shades where they stood. Master Teillagory took his hand in his cold, ghostly one and beckoned him to sit. D'Eon obediently sat down before the table.

_You must pay…_ Bernie's voice whispered beside his ear. Durand took the knight's hand and placed it over the handle of his razor. The glinting blade was mesmerizing. D'Eon could only stare at it as if entranced. _In blood…_ Durand smiled grimly as D'Eon raised the blade to his own throat.

**Author' Notes:**

Merci – Thank you in French.

I like the idea of the children singing to help their uncle, like the ballad-singing minstrels of the Middle Ages. I have D'Eon imprisoned and about to commit suicide just when his niece is trying to get help for him. Divine, unearthly or earthly intervention to save the day?


	6. Lady Sophie

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 6 – Lady Sophie**

Natalia waited and waited. The attendant had bid her to wait in an elegantly furnished parlour while the grand lady changed. She watched the sun set through the large bay window and the moon rise. She was hungry and thirsty but she knew she must be patient. In the end, sleep proved too much for her. She fell asleep sitting on a lounge chair. It was while she was slumbering that the grand lady returned.

"Persistent little boy, isn't he? Reminds me of that person…" the grand lady remarked. "Search him." Yvette patted down the child's clothes, her nimble hands skimming across her vest. "He does not carry the book," Yvette reported.

"Strange, yet I sense the Songs' power in him," the grand lady murmured. Natalia yawned and stretched. She sat up with a start. "Forgive me, my lady…" she kneeled.

"Rise, Nat de Beaumont," the grand lady said. "You sing well."

"You are most gracious," Natalia bowed. Her neck was itching uncomfortably. Something was amiss. "He will be a fine page, don't you think?" The attendant nodded politely. "Yes, Lady Sophie."

"Sing for me, child. Sing a song for an old woman's heart," Lady Sophie sat down. She no longer wore her veil. Natalia saw that she was aged under her face paints and wig, but her left eye was as sharp as a hawk's. Her right eye was a blind white. A disfiguring scar ran down her right cheek, a cruel wound that had probably cost her that eye. "Perhaps tomorrow, you will sing for a king."

* * *

"_D'EON!"_ A young woman's voice shouted. It shattered the trance he was in. "Lia?" D'Eon blinked. The phantoms shivered as if in a breeze. D'Eon lowered the blade from his throat. Durand's hand closed like a claw on his. D'Eon gasped. Teillagory placed his hands on his one-time student's shoulders. _Think about it. Just a quick move of your wrist and you don't have to feel all that pain and loneliness… _

"_D'Eon! We saw him go into the light. That's not Durand!"_ Lia's voice barked harshly. Her voice sounded so far away. _She's gone, you know…_ Durand's eyes were soulless pits. He was right. His sister was gone, his fiancée and friends too. He was all alone… D'Eon was so weary. Durand was urging him, his hand over D'Eon's stiff one, lifting the blade up. _A sharp pain and then relief…_ the blade promised as it pressed against his skin. D'Eon could not fight… The blade drew a bead of blood.

"_D'Eon…" _D'Eon looked down. "Anna?" Anna nodded as she knelt at his feet. Her hand caressed his cheek while the other slowly but surely guided the hand holding the razor away from his throat. _"D'Eon, I love you. Please live…"_ Anna pleaded. Her emerald eyes were shimmering with tears. "Anna, I love you too…" D'Eon wept. The razor dropped onto the floor. The dreadful phantoms were gone.

Anna smiled. She was glowing as if she were lit from within by some heavenly light. _"D'Eon, we will always watch over you…"_ she kissed him. He could feel the warmth of her lips on his, so different from that last icy kiss they shared. She stepped back smiling as her outline slowly faded in the moonlight. Then she was gone. D'Eon fell into a deep restful sleep, sprawled across the table with the razor at his feet.

* * *

"What happened?" Robespierre demanded when the poet suddenly stopped his work. Tears were running down William's cheeks as he shut his journal. "I have failed. Robespierre, I will not try again. Such love! This soul is much blessed."

"Blessed be the just…" Milien's voice intoned from the room above as he fought against a drugged sleep. "For they will be received into His kingdom… Oh angels and powers of light, stand by us… in this darkest hour…" The book on his bedside table glowed with an unearthly light. In Versailles, his sister sang for an old woman who still remembered the Psalms.

* * *

Morning light found D'Eon sleeping when the guards unlocked his cell. "Rise and shine, de Beaumont!" Captain de Janiere's voice barked. D'Eon stretched and rubbed his eyes. He still had that warm fuzzy feeling at the memory of beloved Anna's smile. "Get dressed!" He caught the coat a guard tossed to him. He slipped it on and was painfully aware he had lost weight during his imprisonment. He pocketed his belongings, including the razor. His sword was returned to him at the gate. A carriage bearing the arms of Versailles waited outside.

"Sir D'Eon!" a blond head poked out of the window.

"Natalia?" D'Eon gasped. "Get your head in, Nat! Such behaviour is not becoming of a royal page!" a woman's voice snapped. Natalia withdrew within. "Join us, de Beaumont. We have much to do before we meet with Auguste." The use of the king's name was most unusual.

"Lady Sophie," D'Eon bowed, his heart pounding in his chest. Lady Sophie was the king's aunt, the eldest sister of the late king. She was a legend in Versailles, secretly referred to as the Lioness of Versailles. Many of the tales were bordering on the scandalous, like how she lost her eye and beauty trying to save her lover from her father's wrath. Her quarrels with her father King Louis XIV were frequent, yet the king never thought to pack her off to a convent. When her brother became King Louis XV, she apparently took up embroidery and left the matters of state to him and later Queen Marie. All agreed she was a tough old spinster. Lia had served as her lady-in-waiting for a few months before she joined the _Secret du Roi_.

He gingerly entered the carriage. Natalia almost leapt into his lap, but held herself in check. She sat next to him, slipping her hand into his as the carriage started off.

"Read this," Lady Sophie commanded. Her blond attendant held out the broadsheet. D'Eon's face blanched when he read the words. "Has Auguste, His Majesty, read this?" His hands were shaking. "He has read what you wrote and I personally sealed away, until a certain clerk from England helped him unlock it. Damn that Englishman!" The lady cursed and spat out the window. "Bloody poet!" She must have hit something or someone. A string of spicy curses rang out behind them. The demure-looking attendant shouted back a reply that was equally vibrant.

"Yvette can swear like a sailor. Comes from being born and bred in Marseilles," Lady Sophie smiled. "Of course we have not let the boy read this garbage. They were positively indecent. What he is mad at you for is_ that_," she pointed at Natalia. "Gossip has it that you were having a wild time in Russia while poor Lady Anna was pining away."

"I didn't…" D'Eon protested.

"I don't care if he is yours or some foundling. I don't care even if you have sired a dozen bastards from St Petersburg to London. What I need is for you two to work for me. First, you can expect an audience with the king," Lady Sophie fanned herself lazily.

* * *

They stopped at Lady Sophie's chateau to allow D'Eon a much needed bath and change of clothes. Warm water was a luxury after his long imprisonment. D'Eon smiled when he saw the blue dragoon's uniform the princess had provided for him to wear. It was a near-perfect fit when he tried it on. "We used your sister's measurements since you were so alike in built," Yvette explained. "I made the shoulders a bit broader, seeing guys tend to have broader shoulders…" D'Eon looked in the mirror. Cleanly shaved and with his hair let down, he still looked like Lia although he was now older. Yvette set about combing and tying back his hair.

"You should have stayed dead, D'Eon," Lady Sophie strode into the room. D'Eon looked sheepishly at his feet. It had seemed a good idea then to sneak home to check on his mother a few months after his 'death' and Robin's were announced. Dressed as a peasant, he walked straight into his mother at the memorial service. Madame De Beaumont recognized him at once and shouted it out for all their neighbours to hear. Old Broglie had him hauled back to Versailles where he was ordered by the new king to write out his report on the last mission he carried out in the _Secret du Roi. _Exiled from the court, he often wondered why he had been spared so long.

"I knew your mother, boy. She was a good attendant to me. Pity she had to marry your father in a real hurry when she started showing," Lady Sophie sat down by the mirror. "Your father was an unimaginative bore, but at least he was willing to have her. I do hope your cell was pleasant enough. We would have freed you sooner if we had this proof of your innocence in this slander. I do not wish for a good woman to lose her remaining child."

"You had me arrested?"

"In a way, I suggested to Auguste that you be taken into custody. My custody," the lady smiled. "Come, we shall meet with Auguste. I do hope he is in a good mood. Children can be so fickle, and so cruel. Keep a still tongue in your head, Sir D'Eon. Let the lioness of Versailles roar one more time."

* * *

"De Beaumont, how dare you show your face here!" the boy king almost screamed when their entourage came before him. "You blaspheme against our most sainted father and mother. Cheat on our dear Anna… and have the gall to bring that bastard here!" Natalia darted behind D'Eon at the outburst. D'Eon noticed the smirking regent standing beside the throne. The smirk faded when Lady Sophie quite deliberately walked up to him. The veil fluttered upwards. "Dear Burgundy, it would appear you have been agitating Our Majesty and before our esteemed guests too." A murmur ran through the crowded hall. Lady Sophie had timed their entrance with a grand reception for some visiting delegation from abroad. It would never do for the king to throw a tantrum at such a time.

"Your Majesty, I swear that everything written is true. However, I've remained true to Anna. This child is that of my sister, Lia de Beaumont, born in Russia," D'Eon bowed. Yvette kicked him in the shin. "Sir D'Eon, hold your tongue," she hissed. It was too late. The murmur grew louder. The duke of Burgundy was whispering something into the young king's ear.

"We order D'Eon de Beaumont to be dragged out of here, stripped of his rank…" the young king started. Lady Sophie placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, while glaring at the duke.

"Stripped of his clothes and dressed in skirts. Since he professes a fondness for hiding behind his sister's skirt, perhaps he should be re-assigned as a lady's maid," Lady Sophie purred nonchalantly. "There are some openings in my chateau now that poor Mathilde is dead." She dabbed at her eye with a lacy handkerchief. However, there was a smile at the corner of her lips.

"Yes," the king frowned. "We order D'Eon de Beaumont to serve my aunt Lady Sophie and henceforth dress as befits his new station in life. Guards, take him away and dress him as a woman."

D'Eon had never been so humiliated in his life. Dressing up as Lia for the sake of his mission and France was alright. Forced to dress in a gown for a boy king's fit of pique was at the limit of what the knight could endure. The sniggers that greeted him when he was dragged out in a gaudy pink gown by the guards made him wish he could simply drop dead on the spot. Natalia gaped at the sight of her uncle's new outfit but quickly recovered herself enough to go forward and hold his hand. He felt her slip a piece of paper into it before Lady Sophie ordered her away.

Finally finding refuge on one of the many balconies that opened from the hall, he opened the folded paper. _It would appear you have fallen on hard times. There will always be a place in London for Lia's brother should he need our aid. _D'Eon looked over the balcony and saw the former Queen of England and her husband being escorted on a tour of the summer blooms of Versailles.

* * *

"He wore a pink dress at the reception of the Duke and Duchess of Buckingham?" Robespierre choked on his drink. "It was a pink one with big red bows and miles of French lace. They say the last king had it made for Madame Pompadour but she never wore for the sheer bad taste of it," the hooded figure next to him related. Robespierre laughed dryly. D'Eon's dignity was probably in tatters by now. He took Durand's old watch out of his vest. Its ticking never failed to reassure him of his chosen path. He felt another pair of eyes boring into the timepiece before flitting away.

"Robin, Jean Paul told me you have lost the Psalms. Is that true?" Only one person could still call him by that name and not earn his ire. "I still have the Psalms or rather, the child who holds them. Milien?" The boy trotted over. He held the book close to his chest. The hooded figure raised a hand to her mouth in shock. "They are so alike in their looks."

"Ah yes, Sebastian and Viola of the _Twelfth Night_," William looked up from his work, copying broadsheets for the coffeehouse masses. "Ho, here comes that quack."

Cagliostro stepped into the room with Lorenza. The hooded figure immediately whipped out a dagger and held it to Cagliostro's throat. "Now, now, let's not be hasty," he hiccupped in fear.

"The hair dye you sold me ruined my hair," the hooded figure hissed. "Drop it, girl," Lorenza snapped. "Your hair will grow back! And you got yourself a nice blond wig from that old war-axe."

"I still prefer your hair brown," Robespierre smiled a smile seldom seen on his face nowadays. It was a smile that once graced the face of a young page known as Robin. "You better return to the chateau before you are missed."

**Author's Notes:**

There you have it. D'Eon in a dress in public.

Poor D'Eon. He is now a lady-in-waiting to Lady Sophie and Natalie is a page. I know in the anime D'Eon spent the rest of his life as a woman after King Louis XV let him and Robin go by announcing their deaths. He spends time with Queen Mary but in the end he is all alone. Poor old guy.

I'm taking a lot of liberties with history here. Lady Sophie is probably best described as a counterpart of Empress Elizaveta, except she does not reign over anything besides her own chateau. She does retain some influence over the young king.

Twelfth Night is a Shakespearean play about a pair of twins Viola and Sebastian. Believing her brother drowned, Viola dresses up as boy and works as a page, causing a comedy of errors when brother and sister are confused with each other.


	7. Chateau of Secrets

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 7 – Chateau of Secrets **

D'Eon groaned when he saw the clothes laid out for him on the bed that was to be his. They were all women's clothes. The room itself was decidedly female, yet there was a hint of something familiar about it. Lia de Beaumont beamed beatifically from a painting over the fireplace. It was not a stiffly-posed portrait as was in Russia. Dressed in her fencing clothes, Lia was holding an iris in her hand, her sword sheathed at her slender waist. Behind her in the garden were two young men, in discussion with each other but casting sidelong glances of admiration at Lia. Durand and Maximilien Robespierre. Three knights of France captured in a quiet moment by a skilled artist. A second, smaller bed had been set in the room. Natalia sat on it studying the painting. She ran out of the room when she saw him, allowing him privacy to get out of the awful pink dress.

D'Eon realised she had not spoken since Lady Sophie marched them back to her modest chateau in an uneasy silence. She had spent the better part of an hour with Burgundy and King Louis XVI. One thing that struck him was the lack of servants in the building despite it being part of the sprawling royal complex. Lady Sophie's home was surrounded by an ill-kept flower garden and shady trees. Lady Sophie set Natalia and D'Eon to hard labour weeding the weed-strewn rose beds until sunset. The latter part of the evening was to be spent embroidering a tablecloth, a task both Natalia and he were totally unfamiliar with.

"Nice going, De Beaumont. We should've removed that tongue of yours before meeting His Majesty," Yvette huffed when she doled out the soup. Dinner was a simple affair for them, taken in the kitchen. Lady Sophie took her meal in her room.

D'Eon stared sullenly at his soup. The horrid dress pinched in all the wrong places and was damp with sweat after working in the sun. The young lady-in-waiting rolled her eyes. "You were lucky. Now, how does this sound to you?" She mimicked the king's voice and spoke. "_We order D'Eon de Beaumont to be stripped of his rank. His family properties reverted to the crown. He shall be beheaded and his head stuck on a pike for all to gawk at in a Parisian marketplace._ Count your blessings she got you back alive. Duke of Burgundy hates you and the king wouldn't miss you one bit if you end up dead. Dauphin Auguste and King Louis XVI are not the same and you'll pay dearly if you think of him as that small child Lady Anna once cared for."

D'Eon finally pulled on the lace-trimmed nightgown he was provided with. He was smoothing out the skirts when the door burst open. "D'Eon de Beaumont!" Lady Sophie burst into the room suddenly. "Defend yourself!" she tossed him a rapier which he instinctively caught. Lady Sophie was dressed in breeches topped with a shirt and vest. Her greying hair was braided up atop her head. D'Eon barely took this in when she lunged at him with a rapier. Steel flashed in the dancing firelight.

"You imbecile! What in the name of the Almighty were you thinking? I told you to leave it to me! Now fight me seriously or I'll send you to your mother in a coffin!"

"Forgive me, my lady!" D'Eon parried the furious thrusts and stabs the noblewoman sent his way. He was skilled enough to keep from actually attacking her. The skirts did little to hamper him. "D'Eon, if you don't take me seriously, I shall be forced to fence with the little one," Lady Sophie shouted. That settled it. With a quick thrust and flick of his wrist, D'Eon knocked the rapier out of the woman's grasp and sent it flying across the room.

"You fence well, my lady," D'Eon was panting as well. It had been a while since he had a chance to practise his fencing. Lady Sophie proved to be a skilled opponent. "You care for the little one, don't you?" Lady Sophie smiled. She mopped her brow with the back of her hand. Soundlessly, Natalia glided into the room and draped a shawl around her mistress' shoulders. "We shall need to talk about this little one… and there will be evenings enough for us to talk of the future of France," Lady Sophie smiled.

"Lady Sophie…" an ashen Yvette stood at the door. "The Duke of Burgundy sent you something…" The four trooped downstairs to where two guardsmen were unloading a clothes chest. The pair swiftly left as they had came. D'Eon stared at the chest uneasily as it sat ominously in the middle of the parlour.

"Sir D'Eon, care to do the honours?" Lady Sophie indicated that he should open it. D'Eon unclasped the lid and lifted it. The body of a page was curled up in the chest. Two deep marks encircled his young neck. He had been garrotted. Natalia gasped and drew away at the sight. Yvette placed a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. "A warning from the duke. So this was why he failed to return to us. What is his name, Yvette?" Lady Sophie asked coolly.

"Jacques Lamare, he would be thirteen come spring," Yvette replied. "Have a coffin readied for him and make him decent for his mother's sake. Jacques died of a sudden illness while in my service," Lady Sophie stated. She looked D'Eon in the eye. "That's only part of what I mean to discuss with you. My servants are loyal and brave as this poor child was, but they are no match for the duke's men or those revolutionaries who plague us this day."

The slender Yvette struggled with the stiff corpse. D'Eon came to her aid, hoisting the dead boy out of the confines of the chest. They laid out the corpse on the lounge chair. Yvette worked at trying to straighten the stiffly-bent limbs. "I have only you, D'Eon, and little Nat left," Lady Sophie declared. "_And of course, dear loyal Yvette_." D'Eon realised that he and his niece were hopelessly ensnared in a court intrigue. Lady Sophie walked over to the marble mantelpiece of the fireplace in the parlour. D'Eon watched as she picked up a silver knitting needle from it. She rolled up her sleeve and scratched the boy's name into her forearm. The bloody letters shimmered before fading into nothingness. He shuddered. It was like the Psalms all over again. She caught his eye.

"It's a pledge, Chevalier D'Eon. As their master, one should never make light of the love and loyalty one's subjects give, which both my father and the man who ruled as King Louis XV have done," Sophie said. "Do you believe poor loyal Marie deserved to die? Or Anna who knew nothing? Or Lia who pledged loyalty to France? Ah, King Louis XV did an ill thing indeed, ordering the deaths of those true to him. I carry the names of my good servants and sworn friends in my heart as long as I live. You could understand that, couldn't you? You are one who will probably outlive most of your contemporaries and maybe your children as well…" Lady Sophie tossed aside the knitting needle.

"Yes, he will likely die in poverty with only a shrew by his bedside and she'll strip his corpse of its bedclothes to sell at the local market for rags," Yvette remarked tartly. Between her and Natalia, they had managed to straighten out the corpse. The boy's hands were clasped on his chest. His collar had been turned upwards and a neck cloth tied over the terrible marks. The boy looked as if he were just sleeping on the lounge chair. "As usual, you wield your tongue like your brother did his dagger," Lady Sophie remarked. "_Sans _mercy." The girl stood up.

"I will send for a fine coffin…" Yvette said quietly. She left the room. "It is late. If you do not wish to keep watch here, you may retire for the night," Lady Sophie nodded at D'Eon and Natalia. "We shall talk tomorrow." Both uncle and niece retired to their room.

"Natalia, I'm sorry about what happened …"

"You did your best, Uncle D'Eon. Lady Sophie thinks I'm a boy, doesn't she? Let her continue thinking that. I don't want to be a girl if I have to wear a horrid dress like that," Natalia kicked at the dress on the floor. "Could you teach me to fence, please? Mother was a swordswoman, wasn't she?"

"One of the best. Nat can continue running about in breeches for a while longer," D'Eon smiled. All the terrible things of the day seemed so far away.

"About Grandmother… Jean Pierre and Amelia will care for her. She is in good health though she asks after you and mother," Natalia climbed into his lap. "We could write to her. I could write about Russia, how the ice forms on the Neva or the snow falls on the roofs of St Petersburg… We'll tell her mother and you are in Russia, not helping Lady Sophie. It is all for France, isn't it? Good people die because the king is too weak to protect them…" Natalia looked so thoughtful despite her youth.

_Max, Uncle will teach me to fence. I am to be a page at Versailles._

_Master Robespierre says I can continue meeting you. He was a page once and knows all the secret ways… He has a friend inside who will help us meet. Lia, stay safe. _

By the light of the moon, Natalia stood before the mirror reading the words while her uncle slumbered blissfully in the same room. _Goodnight, dear brother._ Natalia kissed the cool glass before retiring to bed.

* * *

Robespierre yawned and opened his eyes. He was not surprised to find that his young charge had somehow wormed his way into his bed during the night. The boy had habitual nightmares and needed the comfort of his protector nearby. Carefully, he lifted the sleeping boy's arm from across his chest. Breakfast would be a crust of dry bread and milk before he went to the courthouse. There were people he must meet.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Ah, Madame Therese," Robespierre greeted their dour landlady. "Lovely as ever." They were currently lodged in rooms above a poor tavern. He had sent Cagliostro and Lorenza off to attend to matters elsewhere. The tavern keeper's wife scowled as she worked on her knitting. "Take your fine talk and stick it up your…" she retorted with a rude remark. Robespierre grinned. She was one of them. The knitting in her hands was a record of the wrongs wrought on the peasantry. She was the Brethren's recording angel, one of many scattered throughout the land.

"Maximilien Robespierre," a shadowy figure stood up in a corner of the tavern. "Jean Paul…" Robespierre returned the greeting with equal coolness. Jean Paul was a Poet and an uneasy ally. "You have lost the Psalms of the Revolution. You have not been seen with that book at any meeting recently."

"Because he doesn't need the book! He gave it to me," Milien stood at the foot of the stairs. The boy had awoken. The book was in his hands. "Fraternity, Equality and Liberty…" he stumbled over the long words. "They are not just words in a book. They belong to every man and woman…" he gave Madame Therese a winsome smile. "And child," Robespierre walked over to the boy and lifted him into his arms. "There you have it, Jean Paul. We have not lost the Psalms of the Revolution. I gave him the book of my own free will, for the words are already in the hearts of our people."

* * *

"Get up, Sir D'Eon!" It took some time for D'Eon's mind to register where he was when he awoke. Yvette was standing over him, arms on her hips. Natalia peered at him from behind her green skirts. His niece's hair had been trimmed short as a boy's and she wore the clothes of a page. Yvette seized the end of his blanket and yanked it off him. "I hope blue is your colour," Yvette lifted a blue dress before him. "Of course, there is the corset… would you like me to assist you, Mademoiselle de Beaumont?" Yvette teased. "Or would you prefer Nat's help?"

In the end, it was Yvette who laced up his corset. She did not hold back her cutting remarks on the scars that he bore on his body. "Are you sure you got that from a sword? Looks like you got on the wrong side of your girl and she stuck you with a knitting needle… did you sneak a kiss from her or something?" D'Eon winced. His first real kiss with Anna was after her death. He almost wished she had awakened when he kissed her.

"How long have you been working here?" D'Eon asked. Yvette's tongue would have seen her sent away if she had been assigned to someone other than Lady Sophie. Yvette shrugged as she worked on curling his hair. "Oh, three, four years… It's a long way from Marseilles. Big brothers are such idiots."

"Your brother does not approve?"

"Sir D'Eon, thrice I have come to Paris and thrice he sent me home. I've been punched in the stomach once, served drugged wine once and knocked out with a dagger hilt to the head the last round, and placed in a carriage with strict orders to send me back home post-haste. Thank goodness he was away when I last came up," Yvette laughed mischievously. The glint in her eyes was like that of a secretive cat. Her complexion was a bit darker than was accepted for a noblewoman but she was a beauty in a way.

"I would like to meet your brother…" Yvette froze at his words. The balmy late summer air turned as cold as winter. "Your hair's done. I must make arrangements for a body to be sent home… Lady Sophie will be taking her breakfast in the parlour. She wishes to speak with you," the blond girl glided out like a phantom. Her tone was icy. D'Eon wondered what he had said wrong.

**Author's Notes:**

Sans mercy – without mercy.

Noticed the attendants almost live in the palace proper, Lady Anna included. D'Eon and Natalia will be living in Versailles for a while.

Madame Therese is from Tale of 2 Cities. She's that vengeful wife of the tavern keeper.

Yvette's relationship with her brother is more than a little strained. Possible romantic attraction between her and D'Eon? What do you think? Give him a second chance after Anna? Maybe Yvette will be that shrew at his bedside (grin). Think about it, 2 young people in a big house with only 1 kid and 1 old woman… Or Lady Sophie will kick the both of them out if there is any hanky-panky.


	8. More Secrets

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 8 – More Secrets**

D'Eon was surprised to find Natalia and Yvette dining at the same table as Lady Sophie, a breach of normal etiquette. "Come join us," Lady Sophie smiled. "There're only four of us today for breakfast and it is so boring dining alone." Natalia poured out a cup of tea and cut a slice of bread for him. "D'Eon, you have an entire night to consider my offer regarding your future and that of Nat," Lady Sophie warned.

"I will aid you, my lady, as for Nat…" D'Eon's words were cut off by Natalia's outburst. "I will help too," the child piped. "I will need to learn to fight with a sword, just like a proper knight although I am still a page for now. Someday, I will be a knight of France…"

"A knight loyal to the King?" Lady Sophie asked. "No, of France, for the people…" Natalia spoke fearlessly. "What is a knight of France?" Lady Sophie laughed. "You are still an innocent little one but it is true that you must learn to defend yourself. Yvette, take him aside and let him chose a weapon to his liking." The blond girl dabbed at her lips with her napkin before rising and taking Natalia's hand. The pair disappeared into the hallway.

"He takes after his mother and father," Lady Sophie regally sipped at her tea. "That child's mother is Lia de Beaumont and his father Maximilien Robespierre. If there was one man who could breach that citadel that was your sister's heart, it's him. Durand never had a chance in that. Why do you look so surprised, D'Eon?"

"You knew all along…" D'Eon started. The woman nodded. "Of course, I watch and I listen. Lia was my attendant for a time. I recommended Maximilien for knighthood after he has served me as a page. Durand was my eyes and ears for a time before he joined _Secret du Roi._ I had taught poor Marie all she needed to know about the Psalms in Versailles from the moment she first arrived from Poland as a new bride. The blood of the old kings flow in my veins and that of Nat. I know what my father did to Maximilien. What you hear here must remain secret, just as your report on your mission should have remained secret. Do I have your oath on it?"

D'Eon nodded grimly. "I will not hide petty little secrets from you, D'Eon, because you are Lia's brother. Maximilien and Lia's soul destroyed the power of Songs at their birthplace. However, the book is still abroad in the world. The one once called Robin now goes by another name and preaches revolution. The book has changed hands, but it is still held by one of the old blood. They say it was a little girl you brought to the embassy in St Petersburg. Did your sister have another child?"

"Yes, but that child was taken away before I returned," D'Eon replied cautiously. "Pity. The real trouble started when my father foresaw the death of his line through his son. My oldest brother was born when I was thirteen. I had ten sisters in between. Ever wondered why Maximilien was allowed to reach manhood?" Lady Sophie regarded him over the rim of her teacup.

"You had a hand in that too."

"Yes. I saw them take him from my mother in the birthing room. Another infant was brought in. I secretly followed Broglie out that night. I saw him place the baby alive in a small casket and bury it. Let nature kill what the Psalms have forbidden them to kill. I dug it out the moment he left. There was a Swiss guardsman's young widow who was to return to the Alps. I passed the baby to her with a gold locket to pay for his care. Needless to say, my father was furious when he found out about the unearthed grave. Suspecting me, King Louis XIV had my entire entourage imprisoned, tortured and executed for treason. They knew nothing, I told them nothing. I had to watch them suffer, D'Eon," Lady Sophie placed her teacup on its saucer wearily.

"I was held in the Bastille, in the same cell you were in for the past months. In those days, they had a large open window there so that I could watch them execute the prisoners in the yard below. He sent my favourite sister Annamarie to speak with me. She came with the Psalms, to convince me to reveal our brother's whereabouts. She threw herself from the window after I asked her to read and see what our father's actions have wrought. I don't know what she saw in the book. He tried to kill me but the Psalms refused him that," Sophie touched her scar. "The sword missed its mark. So I was shut away here. Maximilien came back many years later to serve as a page after King Louis XV ascended…"

"Uncle D'Eon!" Natalia's voice rang out. His niece ran back into the room. She held a short sword in her hands. "I choose this." The blade was narrow but wickedly sharp. D'Eon saw that the letters NQM were embossed into its hilt.

Lady Sophie lifted an eyebrow. "A _misericorde, _the short sword of mercy, used for ending the suffering of a fallen friend or foe in battle. An interesting choice. Let us pray that you never need to use it on a friend." Natalia nodded solemnly. Her cropped blond locks bobbing in the sunlight. "D'Eon, you will teach the little one to use a sword. Yvette, get a pistol and shot for him," Lady Sophie ordered. Yvette curtsied. The silver cross she wore glinted on its chain, reminding D'Eon of one that was worn by his late friend, Durand.

"D'Eon, you will need a sword or at least a dagger by your side. I refuse to send my trusted servants out unarmed. Are you familiar with the power of words?" Sophie asked. "I do not use poems now that my sister's soul is at rest," D'Eon said. "I mean prayers, they may not be as powerful as the poems but they will offer some protection," Lady Sophie placed a rosary of silver and rose coral on the table before him. "Surely you could spare a few prayers for our troubled country."

* * *

"Pistol and shot, damn that woman," the hooded figure said as she sat down next to a scribe in the coffeehouse. Robespierre looked up from his midday meal. "She'd let a child play at her spy games… and that imbecile chevalier will let her. They sent Jacques back to us in a damned clothes chest," she fumed. "The Lioness of Versailles is a match for her father or her brother in her utter disregard for others… My own brother came home in a bloody casket of English oak."

"How's your family?" Robespierre asked. "Robin, you know full well I no longer have a family. The moron who sired me is lost at sea and the woman who bore me died of the plague. My brother now rests peacefully on a hillside overlooking the bay. Not that he will be able to enjoy seeing the ships come in," she quaffed a tankard of strong ale. "Go easy now. The lioness will be grumpy if her attendant shows up drunk," Robespierre coaxed.

Milien stood before the lunchtime crowd holding his precious book in hand. He was flanked by several young revolutionaries picked by Robespierre to protect his charge in case things got rowdy. Milien cleared his throat and launched into a song telling about the sufferings of a poor peasant family under a cruel noble. The hooded woman smiled grimly. The boy would draw the crowds in for his master to preach to. "I was nearly seven when I joined Queen Marie's service…" Robespierre whispered to himself. "Not much older than him."

"For fraternity, equality and liberty… or give me death," his hooded companion toasted.

"You should never make such an oath lightly, mademoiselle…" an oily voice purred. "Jean Paul…" Robespierre hissed. "I don't trust you, Robespierre. And I trust your companion here even less. Doesn't she work in the palace?"

"I do not place my trust in the word of princes," the hooded figure replied. She lowered her hood to reveal a messy mop of straggly brown hair. Her eyes were fierce and fiery. Her hand went to the dagger at her hip. Robespierre immediately restrained her. "She is one of us. Go address the people, Jean Paul. Milien's almost done singing. Tell them what hypocrites the Church and nobles are. Toss in that scandal of the archbishop's bastards while you're at it," Robespierre said.

* * *

Lady Sophie and her entourage were kept at a distance from the King thanks to the duke's men, though Lady Sophie was hopeful that once the king's ire eased, it might be safe for D'Eon to approach him. "Perhaps you could be his fencing master, D'Eon. The Italian master Burgundy assigned to Auguste has more knowledge of wine than the sword." It was several weeks later that Lady Sophie introduced a new student to the knight.

"Etienne de Janiere, Captain de Janiere's son," Lady Sophie introduced the gangly youngster to D'Eon and Natalia. The ten-year-old boy boasted rusty red hair, freckles and a ready smile. D'Eon lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Oh, the good captain despaired of his son ever mastering sword-fighting," the lady shrugged. "I promised to find him a fencing master. Of course, I did not mention your name. Nat will need someone to practise sparring with. I must attend to my roses. You attend to your students."

"Are you my fencing master?" the boy asked. He was small-built, standing only a head above Natalia. D'Eon nodded solemnly. Etienne promptly tripped over his own boots and tumbled headlong into a rose bush. He was like a clumsy young colt. "But you wear a dress!" D'Eon ignored the remark and selected a pair of training swords for his new students. He tied his skirts about his legs to form a crude pair of trousers as he would need to demonstrate footwork for his students. Master Teillagory always emphasized proper form in his lessons.

As the afternoon wore on, D'Eon realised that the captain's fears were not unfounded. Despite the three years of training he professed to have, Etienne's skill was apparently limited to holding his sword for five seconds before Natalia sent it flying from his grasp. He kept tripping over his own feet and often wound up on his bottom in the dust with Natalia's sword at his throat. The boy was eager to learn though, once he accepted that D'Eon was a master swordsman. Natalia was a natural swordswoman. She looked a lot like Lia did as she as she sparred.

After a short break, they resumed their practice. D'Eon frowned. Something was different about Natalia. She appeared less sure of herself. Her sword thrusts more hesitant. Etienne was allowed a chance to get in a few blows that actually came dangerously close to hurting her. Then it struck him. "Stop!"

"Max," he whispered as he yanked the boy away from Etienne. "How did you get in here? Where's your sister?" They must have switched places when Natalia asked to go indoors for a drink earlier. He wore the same clothes Natalia had been wearing and his hair was cropped short as hers was. They were so alike that he had been fooled. Only the boy's eyes were a deeper blue violet shade while Natalia's were blue-green. How long had they been playing at this game?

"Lia's out… she said I can take her place for a bit," Milien said innocently. D'Eon almost died of shock on the spot. His niece was running about outside unprotected. "Master, I am tired, could we continue tomorrow?" an oblivious Etienne called out. "I think I'm actually improving!"

"Lesson is over for today." Etienne let out a whoop of joy at D'Eon's words and sprinted off in the general direction of the guards' barracks. D'Eon untied his skirts and marched Milien back into the house. The book of Psalms sat innocently on the parlour table. D'Eon tried to lift it but it will not budge. "Keep it out of sight," he instructed. Milien picked up the book and stuffed it into his vest. Not a moment too soon. "De Beaumont?" Yvette stepped into the room with a tea tray. "Ah, Nat…" she offered Milien a ginger snap that he eagerly accepted. "I trust the lesson went well? Where are you going?" D'Eon was walking towards the door.

"I need to make a trip into Paris…" D'Eon said. "Are you going in that dress?" Yvette asked quietly. D'Eon nodded. He needed to find his niece quickly. "Wear these at least," Yvette held out a faded shawl and woman's cap. "If you must go into the city, go as a peasant woman. That blue dress is simple enough."

D'Eon crammed the cap on his head and wrapped the shawl around his shoulders. He let his hair loose over his shoulders. Glancing into the mirror, he saw a plainly-dressed woman reflected in it. Now, he was just another ordinary woman of Paris. "Stay here," he ordered his nephew. "Shall I send for a carriage or prepare a horse?" Yvette asked. "I'll walk…" D'Eon gritted his teeth. "Nonsense, you will get blisters on your feet from those shoes before you even get halfway there," Yvette retorted. "Nat, go ask them to ready a coach."

D'Eon took Milien by the arm and headed for the coach house. Milien would not know anything about coaches. "Say he's Lady Sophie's dressmaker," Yvette called out as an afterthought. She waited until D'Eon and Milien were gone. She quietly entered D'Eon's room with a bunch of purple irises and arranged them in a cut-crystal vase on the mantelpiece. She gazed wistfully at the painting over the fireplace, reaching out to stroke the face of one of the figures.

Silently, she walked across the hall to her own room. Yvette unlocked her closet and pushed aside her dresses, until she found it. Carefully, she lifted her precious box from its hiding place. Laying it on her bed, she undid the clasps and peeled back the linen cloth with its embroidered irises and lilies. The same ornate pommel, the same keen blade… She lifted the rapier out of its case. It was so heavy.

"Uncle D'Eon?" Natalia's voice rang out in the corridor. "Max?" she added in quieter voice. She stopped before a dusty window and wrote some words on the glass. _Max, I'm back at the chateau. _The words faded away as quickly as she had written them. Galloping about the countryside on a horse was exhilarating after being bored out of her mind fencing with Etienne. It would be nice if fighting him was actually a challenge.

* * *

The sun was already low in the sky when the coach dropped them off before Notre Dame Cathedral. The square before the cathedral was filled with milling crowds of peasants, traders and craftsmen rounding up a market day. Vendors hawked their wares to any late customers. This was the Paris of the common people. There was even a gallows being built for some execution. "Where is your sister?" D'Eon asked the boy. Milien took out his book and studied its pages. D'Eon looked away. He dreaded what he might see within the Psalms.

"Lia has gone back to Versailles," Milien replied. He traced his reply to his sister in empty pages of the book. _I am in the city. Uncle is with me. _The glowing words melted into the page before he closed the book and stuffed it back into his vest. "I must go back…"

"I will go with you," D'Eon took his young nephew's hand in his. They walked up to the grand doors of the cathedral. Apart from a few parishioners, the place was deserted. Milien led his uncle through the cathedral and out through a side door, down winding alleys until D'Eon was totally lost. Milien finally stopped before a poor tavern in a rough neighbourhood. He pushed open the door and entered. Worried for his young nephew, D'Eon followed before he realised he had walked into a seething pit of fomenting revolution.

"Long live the King, may he burn in hell!" a drunk lying across the doorway shouted. Milien deftly stepped over him. "Death to the nobles! Off with their heads," another one shouted before pitching off his bench. Men sullenly derided the poor state of the nation over their cups. They were accompanied by a few women, probably streetwalkers going by their attire. The woman knitting behind the counter looked up and stared at the newcomer. "She's with me…" Milien called out. D'Eon felt a dozen pairs of eyes on him. He pulled the shawl tighter round his shoulders.

"Starting young, Mil? Or is that bitta fancy skirt for Master Robespierre?" someone gave a low whistle. The knitting woman shouted up the stairs. "Maximilien Robespierre! If yer havin' a woman for the night, it'd cost yer extra!"

"What woman, Therese?" Robespierre pounded down the stairs. "It's only Milien, oh…" Blue eyes rested on D'Eon as recognition set in. Milien glanced from his uncle to his master uneasily.

"I told you he will be back," Cagliostro said. "Boy's always running off." Lorenza leaned on his arm as they descended the stairs. The pair had returned from their little errand.

"And he is with an old friend," Robespierre added, keeping his eyes on D'Eon. "It is a lovely evening. How does a ride round Paris sound?" The smile he gave D'Eon was about as welcoming as the frozen wastes of Siberia.

**Author's Notes:**

Robin (Robespierre) and D'Eon cross paths again. D'Eon gets mistaken for a woman here but Robespierre could still recognize him. Time out for them to sort out their differences? Or will this coach ride wind up with someone in the river?


	9. Offer by the Seine

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Robespierre is going to attempt to convert D'Eon to his cause here. Poor D'Eon is stuck dressing as a woman as long as he's lady-in-waiting to Lady Sophie, or until the king pardons him.

**Chapter 9 – Offer by the Seine**

"Madame Therese, we'll impose on you no further," Robespierre called out over his shoulder as he climbed into the coach. "Devil take you," the woman replied with a curse. Her knitting needles still clicked away as she stood in the doorway. D'Eon glared at Robespierre. He was outnumbered and out-armed in the tavern. Every man had a dagger or axe within easy reach. That was not counting the sturdy wooden staffs the good Madame Therese had lined up against one wall of her establishment. Robespierre had relieved him of the dagger he had hidden up his sleeve and that deadly pistol was still trained on his chest. Milien sat beside him, clutching his precious book tightly.

There was also Lorenza to consider. The woman sat across the coach to him. Her ferret-like eyes hinted that she was not a spent force. She moved aside so that his old friend could join them. "Go sit on the box with Cagliostro. Fresh air will do you good," Robiespierre urged his ward. Milien hesitated a moment before obeying. A few moments later, the coach slowly rattled off.

"De Beaumont, I'm surprised that after all you've suffered, you still serve the king and the royal family," the revolutionary put aside his pistol. Apart from the same copper hair and blue eyes, there was little left of the old Robin. Those blue eyes were as hard as flint. "Do you really enjoy wearing dresses? Or serving some old woman like a dog? I hear you slave over her rose beds by day and over embroidery by night. Is embroidery to your liking?"

D'Eon bit back a cutting remark as a fury burned within him. Both his life and his nephew's were in their hands. He did not know what the boy was worth to them and he did not wish to test it. Robespierre reached over and placed an ink-stained hand over D'Eon's, a reconciliatory gesture.

"Come on, Sir D'Eon… the days of the old loyalty is gone. There is no place for a knight in this day. Do you know what Milien told me the other day? Louis XVI will be the last king of France… after that a new order will be set. It is written in the Psalms." D'Eon shuddered at the memory of when Lia's soul and his were cast into that illusion at the abbey and the subsequent glimpse of the future. "That road is paved with blood and death…" A chill ran through his core.

"True but necessary to bring about the new order. The old order must be torn out by the roots. Milien is one of us, D'Eon. Maximilien Robespierre's son stands with the Revolutionary Brethren. Do you believe the Lioness of Versailles could protect you and little Lia? Your loyalty will only be rewarded in the same manner as your sister's was. With death."

"Robin, Robespierre, the king is still young. He may grow up to be wiser… Lady Sophie will ensure that he is taught…"

"The proper etiquette of the court? How to glorify and enrich himself and his lackeys? The Lioness only cares for the glory of the royals, not France," the redhead mocked. "He's forgotten how to feel for others. He's not the same child Anna and Queen Marie cared for. The regent has turned him into little more than a spoiled puppet. The duke of Burgundy has no wish to wear the crown, only pull the strings behind it, just as the Lioness wishes to do."

"There's still hope." He was clutching at straws now. Robin's words unsettled him. "There's none, D'Eon. Join us," Robin coaxed. "For the good of France." There was something almost hypnotic in those blue eyes. D'Eon felt his resolve waver. Images flashed into his mind. His poor sister dying in her own blood on the floor of a cathedral, Anna in her casket, Durand and Teillagory… dead all because of the Psalms…

"No. I refuse to be a part of your revolution."

"Adieu then, Sir D'Eon de Beaumont," Robespierre saluted him. The coach stopped suddenly. What happened next took D'Eon by surprise. The coach door popped open and he was shoved out by a fierce force. He caught a glimpse of the twisted ropes of words encircling his body and Lorenza's lips moving silently. Sharp agony shot through him. He was going to be killed, he thought as he hovered airborne for a moment. A child's voice cried out in alarm.

"_I will lift up my eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth."_ The words were uttered hurriedly.

The pain lifted from him. With a resounding splash, D'Eon landed in the Seine. "Uncle D'Eon!" Milien tried to peer into the dark water below the bridge even as Cagliostro held him back. "You killed him!" Milien growled at his companions. "Lorenza, you could've been more discreet," Robespierre chided. Lorenza pouted. "Now, now… no point crying over spilled milk…" Cagliostro urged. He stood between the woman and Robespierre. Milien peered into the dark waters below them. There was a weak splash, followed by another. D'Eon struck out for the shore. This movement did not go unnoticed by Robespierre. He pulled out his pistol and loaded it.

"What the…" Robespierre dropped the firearm. The butt had burnt his palm. He saw the pale letters NQM fading on the butt. D'Eon had vanished from view when he finally picked his firearm up. It was most likely Milien's work. The boy now sat sullenly on the box, the reins in his small hand. "Does uncle deserve to die, Master Robespierre? Because he's a noble? Because he doesn't support our revolution? I need to think. I'll be at the cathedral," he informed his companions coldly. The youngster gave a little flick of his wrist and the horses started off. "Wait, you little brat!" Cagliostro shouted when he realised what was happening. The trio watched in disbelief as Milien rode off with their coach and luggage.

* * *

Night had fallen like a pall over Paris when he finally hauled himself out of the Seine. His cap and shawl were gone. Blood seeped from a shallow gash on his brow. His body ached all over. He shivered and coughed out filthy river water. He was weary. He wanted to just drift off to sleep. D'Eon lowered his head onto the damp sand.

"_D'Eon de Beaumont! Up on your feet, boy!" _

"M-master Teillagory?" he opened his eyes. His old sword master's voice sounded so close as if he was standing over him. The cold hit D'Eon like a hundred needles through his sodden dress. The wind was picking up. He would freeze to death if he remained where he was. He staggered to his feet. The current had carried him a good way downstream. He realised that he was standing on the same spot where Lia's casket had come ashore.

Shivering violently he limped up the stairs onto the street. He had a long way to go. An early fog was rolling in. He had not gone far before he heard hoof beats, the thundering wheels of an approaching coach and a child's voice. "Uncle D'Eon!"

A coach halted beside him. Natalia was on the box beside Etienne de Janiere. The captain's son held the reins. "Get him in before he catches his death of the cold," an imperious voice called out from within the vehicle. Yvette grimly dragged a shaking D'Eon into the coach and tossed her heavy shawl around him. She pressed her handkerchief onto D'Eon's bleeding forehead and held him tightly to warm him. "Get us back home quickly," Lady Sophie commanded.

"Whatever possessed you to take a swim in the Seine at this dismal time of the year?" Yvette asked. D'Eon's teeth were chattering too much for him to reply. "The little one thought we should take a ride in the city to look for you after you failed to turn up at dinner," Lady Sophie regarded him coolly. "We were afraid that Burgundy's men got to you, chevalier."

* * *

Between Yvette and Etienne, they managed to drag D'Eon up to his bedroom where Yvette piled wood on the fire and offered brandied tea for their patient. "Shall I send for a doctor, Master?" Etienne asked. "No…" D'Eon replied. "Guess I better get home then, or my father will whip me," the boy left the room. A few moments later, the boy was trotting along the path towards the barracks. D'Eon's frozen limbs had warmed up sufficiently for him to remove his wet clothes and pull on a dry nightshirt. Yvette urged him into his bed and tossed on a warm quilt before leaving him.

"You ran into a poet and almost got killed," Lady Sophie announced from the open door. "Did you learn anything from your trip to town, D'Eon?" she regally glided in. "The people are unhappy with the nobles. The taxes are heavy although the harvests are bad. People are hungry and angry, but the king does not know this," D'Eon reported. "I went into a tavern somewhere, I can't recall where. The common people hate the nobility because of the shabby manner in which they have been treated. If the king will not heed them…" He looked at his hands and saw the whip-like bruises on his arms from Lorenza's attack. Thankfully, there were no telltale letters which could hint at some malevolent spell. His nephew had used a poem to save his life.

"Ah, you question your own wisdom in throwing your lot in with us. Will it be better to leave this country for the green pastures of England? You are free to go if you choose, but first you must recover. Come, little one… We have a tablecloth to embroider." Sophie glided out off the room with Natalia at her heels. Yvette returned with a meal of warm creamy soup and bread for D'Eon.

"De Beaumont, you are a fool," Yvette chided as she all but dumped the meal tray on his lap. "You and my brother. Fools! You could've been another drowned corpse in the Seine. A fine end for another fine knight of France." Yvette poured out another cup of tea and added a generous amount of brandy to it before offering it to him.

"Yvette, you told me your brother was against you coming to Paris. Perhaps it was because he feels it will be better for you back home…" D'Eon ventured. The brandy was making his tongue less guarded.

"I know that as a half-gypsy I'm too dark to be considered pretty enough for a lady-in-waiting…" Yvette poured out some tea for herself. "But back home, I'll probably be married to a drunk of a sailor, have a dozen kids and bury most of them before I'm thirty. I wanted to come up here just as my brother did when he was twelve." She smiled. Her cheeks were rosy in the warmth of the fire. "I was lucky Lady Sophie took me in."

"Your brother came up here alone?" Yvette's hometown of Marseilles seemed so far away even though D'Eon had travelled even further to St Petersburg and London.

"Yes, my brother left in a huff after he caught our old man carrying on with the scullery maid on the day of his mother's burial," Yvette replied. "He writes to me though, and drops by once in a while. He can't write or visit often because of his work. He has to travel a lot." Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Yvette, you are crying…"

"Am not!" the blond girl ran for the door. The sudden movement loosened her hair.

D'Eon and Yvette stared at the blond hairpiece on the floor. A horrified Yvette lifted her hand up to her exposed head and screamed.

"What was that about?" Lady Sophie demanded as she and Natalia came at the sound of the scream. Lady Sophie was holding a knitting needle in her hand. Natalia picked up the blond wig from the floor and held it up to Yvette. "Wear your wig, Yvette. And quit that sniffling. It will take a while before your hair grows back fully but that's a hard lesson for you on dubious peddlers," Lady Sophie ordered. Yvette seized the wig and set it onto her straggly brown hair. Red-faced, she fled for her room.

"Yvette had a most unfortunate encounter with a charlatan selling hair dyes," Lady Sophie explained. She looked D'Eon in the eye. "Young man, if you should harbour any less than honourable intentions towards my attendant, you will sorely regret it." D'Eon nodded. "You have my word, ma'am."

* * *

"Milien, I said I'm sorry. We just got a bit carried away," Robespierre cajoled. They finally caught up with the boy at Notre Dame. Milien had left the coach in the empty square before the cathedral. Lorenza and Cagliostro were busy retrieving their scattered belongings from the mud. Milien had seen fit to dump the pair's luggage into the nearest gutter. Only Master Robespierre's was spared, probably because Milien's clothes were in the same chest.

Milien poked his head over the choir-box rail so that he was looking down at the redhead. "I understand sacrifices have to be made, Master Robespierre. But I can't see how hurting my uncle will get us anywhere… if blood must be spilled, it must be for just reason. I'm scared, Master…" Milien climbed down so that he was standing before his guardian. "The book tells of so much blood and death… I am worried… This revolution, is it for the best?"

"Have faith, Milien. That is only the start of a glorious tomorrow for France," Robespierre ruffled the boy's hair. "If that is true, Master Robespierre, I'll gladly be the spark. I'll gladly use every single drop of blood in me to bring about that tomorrow," Milien said solemnly. "I wish to stay here a bit longer, sir. May I?"

They sat down on a pew. "As you wish…" Robespierre looked up at the rose windows high above them.

**Author's Notes: **

No swordfight here. That isn't Robin's style. Besides, they aren't carrying swords. Milien is miffed here about how his guardians treated his uncle. After all that serious talk, I had to put in some comedy. Sorry, Yvette. But wigs were fashionable in those days.

Some key original characters I have introduced so far.

Natalia de Beaumont – D'Eon's niece. Known to her twin as Lia. Goes about as a royal page named Nat.

Milien – Natalia's twin brother, known to his twin as Max. Real name is Maximilien. Assumed name is Fritz Milien, but his guardian calls him Milien. He is the current holder of the Psalms. The twins are amazingly alike in their looks.

Lady Sophie (Lioness of Versailles) – senior noblewoman, daughter of King Louis XIV and aunt to King Louis XVI, aware of the psalms and the royal secrets. Has a bit of influence over the king but is waging a war for control against the regent, Duke of Burgundy. She is D'Eon's benefactor in a way.

Yvette – Sophie's attendant. Has serious issues about her brother who did everything in his power to keep her away from the capital and royal service.

Etienne de Janiere – 10 year old redhead son of the captain of the guard. Hopeless at fencing. Coincidentally, his father hates the de Beaumont siblings because Lia and D'Eon kept beating him at sparring.


	10. Lovers

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 10 - Lovers**

"I'm glad uncle is alright, Lia." _Swish. Clang!_

"Yep, Yvette says it's just a chill from the river. He should be about in a week or so." _Clang, swish, clatter…_

"Master Robespierre's sorry that happened. He didn't expect Lorenza to go that far…" _Clang, clang, clang… Thwack! _

"I win this time, Max."

"You always win…" The sword clattered as it fell along the slope of the roof, until it came to rest beside a stone gargoyle.

"Because you keep letting me," Natalia slid down the roof of the cathedral to retrieve her brother's sword. Milien followed. Fencing right on the catwalk with the grand rose window of Notre Dame on one side and a sheer drop on the other, or on the very spine of the cathedral roof did little to dampen their spirits, although seeing the children engaged in such activities would have given both their guardians a full head of white hair.

"Etienne is a bore," Natalia declared. "I prefer sparring with you." Both children settled on the ledge beside the ugly stone beast. "Why do you keep holding that book if it scares you so much?"

"Because I have to," Milien placed the book on his lap.

"May I read it?"

"If Lia wishes, Lia may," Milien flipped open the Psalms. Natalia's eyes scanned through the pages. "You're right, Max. It is a very scary book." Natalia closed her eyes and squeezed Milien's hand. She was willing to share her brother's nightmares as he need not bear them alone.

* * *

Sitting lazily in his bed, D'Eon was offered a rare opportunity to reflect on his situation. He often wrote to his mother, telling her about St Petersburg in his letters. She never wrote back. Jean Pierre did send word back that she was in good health physically, although her mind was almost gone. She showed his letters to the neighbours and any callers at her home. Folks now believed D'Eon and his sister were abroad. Lia's death was not widely known due to the unusual circumstances surrounding her death. In fact, she had been denied a proper burial. Thinking of his sister still brought an ache to his heart.

Yvette had managed to procure a man's nightshirt for him to wear so that he would be more comfortable. He could not figure out how women slept in stiff ribbons and lace. It was too itchy for him. He lay back on the cushions nursing a cold. D'Eon's days at the chateau were spent working in the rose garden, fencing with his niece or Lady Sophie herself on occasion and needlework. Teaching Etienne, Natalia and her twin fencing on occasion was a bonus. He was lucky that Lady Sophie had not been invited to attend any court functions yet. He could not imagine walking behind Lady Sophie dressed as a lady-in-waiting, with Yvette by his side and the entire court snickering as he passed them.

Yvette had laughed when he mentioned it. Her laughter was like a twinkling brook. "Please, I will prefer walking alongside you if you are dressed as a man. Besides, Lady Sophie has other things to attend to." Lady Sophie was kind despite her sharp tongue. She still referred to him as a knight, and Natalia was the little one. Anyone could see the noblewoman was fond of her page. "If we're lucky, we may get to join the king on a hunt. But considering the last time Lady Sophie went on the same hunting party as Burgundy, she blew the top off his wig with a pistol. Said she thought his feathered hat was a pheasant," Yvette mimed the terrified duke grabbing the remains of his wig. Lady Sophie was born a princess of the realm, though she no longer went by that title. Burgundy, a distant cousin, was married to her late sister, Princess Yvonne. The duke retained his power although his royal blooded wife had been dead for years.

Yvette left the chateau often, possibly on Lady Sophie's orders. Natalia often sneaked out and her twin took her place at the chateau. Sometimes, he would see one of the children and mistake it for the other. Of course, Natalia's sword stance was very different from her brother's, as much as Lia's differed from D'Eon's. Lady Sophie often left the chateau dressed in her riding clothes. "She's off to see her lover," Yvette whispered conspiringly. "She has a dozen in the barracks and another in the coach house." D'Eon did not know whether to believe the young lady.

"I wish my fair was as fair as yours…" Yvette sighed as she plaited his long tresses. D'Eon was surprised he had allowed her to dress his hair. It was getting in the way but he did not wish to cut it yet. The last time someone else dressed his hair for him, it was Robin. Yvette sat on the bed with comb in hand, taming the unruly locks. D'Eon noticed that her skirt had ridden up to reveal her slender leg all the way up to her knee. He quickly looked over to the painting of his sister over the fireplace. His heart was racing. It was different from when he walked in on Lia when she was pulling on her stockings for a ball or catching a glimpse of Anna' properly stocking-clad ankles showing as she walked beside him.

"Men prefer fair girls, don't they? My brother wrote about how his lady love has hair like golden sunshine, eyes like the sea," Yvette mused as she bent over her work. "And skin as fair as the moon… of course, if he'd sent her half of the poetry he wrote in his letters home, she'd probably drown in the sheer lameness of it. Mathilde painted that," she glanced over at the painting. "She had a good eye for such things. Those two men have a fondness for the lady, but they dare not make a move then… pity Mathilde died of a fever last year. It would be interesting if she painted you and Nat."

"Yvette! Burgundy's coming!" a child's voice cried out. A breathless page ran into the room. "Etienne and I were sparring when we saw him coming. Etienne's gone to warn the lady." The adults exchanged glances. Lady Sophie had gone out in her riding clothes earlier. Yvette leapt to her feet. With D'Eon at her heels, the attendant rushed to their mistress' bedchamber. A dressed wig sat on the table alongside Lady Sophie's hat and veil. "Mathilde used to cover for her when this happens, but I am too dark to pretend to be her…" She looked at D'Eon.

"I'll try to stall him…" Yvette shoved the wig into D'Eon's hands. "You'd have to pass as her… that man will never let her off he knew about the lovers!" She rushed out as a pounding started on the front door. D'Eon wondered how he could pass for the much older Sophie.

Natalia was already pulling the curtains around the bed. D'Eon grabbed a shawl from a nearby chair. "Uncle, get in, hurry…" she set the wig on his head while he climbed into the cavernous bed. As the wig was being placed on his head, he caught a glimpse of the child's eyes. They were blue-violet. "Maxmilien?" he reached for the boy's hand. Milien pulled his hand away. Footsteps were approaching. "Duke or not, you can't march into Lady Sophie's bedroom like that!" Yvette's shrill protests were cut off by a heavy blow.

"Dear lady, I must declare, your servant is most rude …" the duke smirked as the door swung open. Behind him, Yvette sullenly nursed a reddened cheek. D'Eon held his tongue, making full use of the shadows and curtains to hide his face. Milien had set a ewer of water on a chair and was wringing a cloth in it. He bowed politely at the duke's entrance. "Apologies, sir. My mistress is not well."

"What ails the lady?" the duke approached the bed. "She appears to have lost her tongue…" D'Eon shrunk back into the shadows nervously.

"The doctor said it may be scarlet fever…" Milien lied without batting an eyelid. He approached the bed and made a show of sponging D'Eon's brow. "It may be contagious…" The duke stepped back. D'Eon added a few soft coughs for effect. "I shall pray for your swift recovery," the duke took his leave hurriedly. He was not risking illness or death by lingering any longer. Politely smiling, Milien showed him to the door.

D'Eon climbed out of the bed and replaced the wig on the table once he heard the duke leaving the house. "Sir D'Eon, that was quick-thinking," a somewhat dishevelled Lady Sophie climbed in via the open window, assisted by her page. "I would have run into that man had you not sent this little one to warn me." Natalia grinned at her uncle. Her eyes were elfin green. Etienne had no part in the charade at all. Lady Sophie picked a stray leaf out of her hair and dusted her clothes. She walked up to D'Eon with her riding crop and struck him lightly across the cheek.

"One more thing, Sir Knight. I have not shared my bed with a man and I don't intend to start now. Next time, use the veil and a chair," she chided gently. D'Eon rubbed his sore cheek. Yvette was giggling into her shawl. Milien was probably gone by now. Only Natalia remained.

* * *

A few days later, D'Eon was feeling bored with just sitting in bed. The garden had faded with autumn. He decided he would check on their horses in the stables. Lady Sophie kept three palfreys and a fine young gelding for their riding. It was in there that he ran into Yvette undressing.

"D'Eon? Is that you? Could you help me with my corset? It's not like Nat to pull it that tight…" Yvette yipped as she tried to undo her laces while standing in an empty stall clad only in her underwear. D'Eon blushed. It was Maximilien who had sat at the breakfast table that day, stuffing a roll into his pocket for Natalia while she rode about the countryside on her gelding. D'Eon noted that the said horse was not in the stables.

"Why are you changing in here?" D'Eon entered the stall. The stall boasted a trunk of worn-looking clothes. He glanced at her laces. Maximilien had tied them in a dead knot. Footsteps sounded outside. "I'm going spying. Duck, someone's coming," Yvette pulled him to the straw-covered floor. A man's and a woman's voices sounded. D'Eon froze.

"Lady Sophie, I would urge caution…" D'Eon recognized the owner of that voice. It was Sir Michel Rochefort, his almost father-in-law. "Michel, have you lost your nerve?" Sophie's voice chided. "I know you are a man of great passion and energy… one of the last remaining knights…"

"It's only Lady Sophie's lover," Yvette whispered. D'Eon stepped backwards and tumbled over a pail. Yvette ducked headlong into a small haystack and out of sight.

"Who goes there?" A pair of eyes, as green as Anna's were, glared at him down a short sword that was pointed at his throat. Sir Michel Rochefort's snowy whiskers twitched as recognition set in. D'Eon recalled that those whiskers were once a flaming red. Sir Michel's hair turned pure white not long after the tragic death of his only child, Anna.

"Oh, put away your sword, Michel. It is only D'Eon de Beaumont. I believe you know him from the time he was still a squalling baby-in-arms," Lady Sophie took the sword out of his hand and tossed it point-first at the haystack. A shriek sounded and a partially-dressed Yvette leapt out of hiding, falling over D'Eon, who was still sprawled on the ground. "I believe we need to change the place for our trysts. It's getting too crowded here," Lady Sophie chortled. Sir Michel coughed into his sleeve uncomfortably. The poor man was beetroot red as he retrieved his sword.

"Yvette, I expect a full report on what is going on in town. You can drag D'Eon out as well, seeing he is up and about." With a toss of her head, Lady Sophie left. Sir Michel followed, averting his eyes from the sight of D'Eon in his dress and the semi-naked Yvette.

"D'Eon, are you going to get me out of this infernal corset or not?" Yvette growled. "Use this to cut the laces if you need to." She handed a dagger to him. There was something different in her eyes. This was no country girl or servant. There was a hint of danger in her manner now, as keen as the blade of her dagger. There was something eerily familiar about her demeanour.

* * *

For the first time in many months, D'Eon was wearing a man's clothes. He wore the long pants worn by the lower classes instead of the knee-breeches he and his contemporaries wore. Yvette was similarly dressed. She had forgone her blond wig and crammed a hat over her unruly hair. The pair sneaked out of the palace compound through the guard barracks, narrowly encountering the de Janieres en route. Poor Etienne was being thrashed by his father for some transgression. The screams of his student almost made D'Eon intervene but Yvette stopped him.

"Etienne is a lot tougher than you think. If you intervene now, Etienne will pay for it later. De Janiere has only one son and he will never, when sober, maim him."

They hitched a ride on a wagon bound for Paris and disembarked inside the city. "Come along now," Yvette beckoned with a tilt of her head. The sun glinted on the silver cross she wore where it hung at the opening of her red vest. D'Eon was struck by a sense of déjà vu. Clad in a man's clothes, Yvette resembled someone he once knew. She was slim-built but the tan overcoat and vest she wore were fitted to her. They were both armed with daggers at their belts. Yvette also had a pistol under her coat.

"We are about to enter a den of revolution, Sir Knight. So hold your tongue," Yvette winked. They had stopped before a smoky coffee house. Entering the establishment, they found an empty bench near the door. D'Eon recognized the man ranting against the excesses of the royal court as he stood with one foot on a low table. Jean Paul was a known revolutionary. A younger man with red hair loitered in the background, flanked by Cagliostro and Lorenza. Unconsciously, D'Eon tried to shrink into the dimness. Yvette had rubbed walnut into his hair to darken it. There was a chance that Robin would not recognize him.

"_Bonjour_, Uncle," Milien piped up as he squeezed onto the bench between Yvette and D'Eon. "It is good to see you in trousers," Natalia added as she squatted on her haunches at his feet since there was no room on the bench for her. She had decided she was getting too old to sit on laps. D'Eon glanced at Yvette. Thankfully, she seemed to be too engrossed in the speech to notice the children. Jean Paul finished his piece to rousing applause from his supporters. Maximilien Robespierre, formerly known as Robin, took the stage where he gave a stirring speech. The audience settled into a spellbound silence.

At the end of it, the entire house broke into cheers and applause. "Hear, hear!" Even Yvette had leapt up and was cheering. D'Eon had to admit that Robin was an eloquent speaker and capable of inspiring the masses. Both Natalia and Milien had slipped off and disappeared into the crowd unnoticed by D'Eon. Worried, he scanned the mass of people for them.

"Those two, after them quickly." Yvette pulled on D'Eon's sleeve. Two men had peeled away from the crowd and were sneaking out the back. Yvette reached into her coat for her pistol as they pushed their way through the crowd. Robespierre was busy conversing with Jean Paul when Yvette ran past him. Following so close behind, D'Eon could not be sure if he was mistaken. Yvette seemed to meet Robespierre's eye before quickly looking away. There seemed to be a momentary flicker of recognition in the man's eyes.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon pretending to be Lady Sophie in her absence. Talk about embarrassing for D'Eon, meeting his almost father-in-law and family friend in that situation. Then Lady Sophie almost kills her attendant by tossing a sword into a haystack. Yvette should consider a job-change. Finally, D'Eon back in trousers and doing some spying with Yvette.

Bonjour- good morning


	11. Alley Brawl

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 11 – Alley Brawl**

The back door of the coffeehouse opened into a warren of alleyways so narrow in places that Yvette and D'Eon were forced to proceed in a single file. Yvette led while D'Eon followed as she was familiar with the neighbourhood. Rounding a sharp corner, she halted. "Sir D'Eon, I pray you are as good with a dagger as a sword," she whispered. They were at a fork in the alley and no less than six men were approaching them with blades drawn from all sides.

Quickly, D'Eon assessed the situation. They were surrounded. All escape routes were cut off. The close quarters would mean they would have to grapple with their opponents. The longer blades would be a liability to those who wielded them. Aside from the two they had tailed from the coffeehouse, the others wielded rapiers and swords. This bothered D'Eon. He had not seen a peasant or commoner with such weapons yet. He had little time to react.

One charged at Yvette, sword slicing downwards in a deadly arc. With cat-like swiftness, Yvette sidestepped the deadly blow. The blade bit into a nearby rain barrel. D'Eon watched the man's chest exploded in a red mist as Yvette coolly shot him point-blank. "That's for young Jacques," she spat. Another attacker attacked D'Eon with his dagger. The knight was able to block the thrust with his dagger just as Durand had taught him so long ago. D'Eon disarmed him and a quick stab to the exposed throat ended it. Seeing two of their number slain, the rest hesitated.

"Come on, it's only one guy and a chit of a girl!" one man, who was better-dressed than his fellows, shouted. "Kill them!" His words were soon drowned out in a geyser of blood. Yvette had shot him clean through the throat.

"Don't treat me like a little girl!" she growled, tossing aside her spent pistol and drawing her daggers. Yvette looked like an enraged alley-cat with blood splattered on her clothes and drawn daggers in hand. She had lost her hat and her straggly brown locks framed her face. D'Eon gasped. In the poor light of the alleyways, she seemed so like someone else. He did not have the luxury of thinking who as their remaining foes came on them en masse.

D'Eon sidestepped an opponent's rapier so closely that the point pierced his shirt sleeve and scratched his arm. He swung round with his dagger and drove it into his foe's side. His companion shouted a warning. D'Eon dodged a dagger thrust and plucked out his dagger in time to stab his foe in the chest. _Five down. _The scuffle had drawn the attention of the neighbours. Shutters and doors were opened by a crack or thrown wide open.

The last man's nerve broke and he ran. "He's in the secret police! Stop him!" a blood-splattered Yvette shouted and waved to an open window. What happened next was brutal. The fleeing man was running past a door when a pitchfork took him in the thigh. A dozen rough-looking men and women rushed out brandishing staffs. Horrified, D'Eon watched as the fallen man was bludgeoned to death on the spot. He recognized some of the faces from the audience at the coffeehouse.

"Viva la revolution! Long live liberty, equality and fraternity!" Yvette whooped. The mob responded with a cheer, waving aloft their bloodied staffs. "Let's get out of here," she tugged on D'Eon's arm. They ran off together.

Breathless, the pair found shelter under a bridge. "I need to wash," Yvette admitted as she looked at her blood-splattered clothes. She waded knee-deep into the river and started scrubbing. D'Eon joined her in washing the blood off his hands and dagger. "Who were they?" D'Eon had to ask. Yvette shrugged. "Maybe Burgundy's spies or the secret police. Don't feel too bad. The secret police works for the duke now."

"Wait, we just cut down members of the secret police?" a stunned D'Eon gaped. "Self-defence, they meant to kill us, you know," Yvette shrugged prettily. "Now let me rinse that walnut out of your hair."

His hair back to its original hue, D'Eon sat down on the river bank while his clothes and hair dried. He wondered where Natalia and her twin were. It was warm enough for an autumn day. His stomach growled. Yvette laughed when she overheard it. It was time for their midday meal. "Hungry? I'll get us something to eat and drink," Yvette ran up into the street.

* * *

"_Apples, bread, cheese and milk,"_ Yvette happily carried her purchases. It would be like a picnic, just like those by the sea her brother took her on back home. "Yvette." She froze at that voice. Slowly she turned around. The voice belonged to a red-haired young man accompanied by a blond child clutching a book. It was Robespierre and his young ward. "Good to see your hair is growing in."

"Robin." They were in a quiet side street with little witnesses to their meeting apart from the spies of the revolutionary brethren. Still, they had to be careful. There was no telling if any secret policemen were about.

"Nice work with the secret police dogs back there. We will take care of the carcasses. I must thank you on Milien's behalf for helping the children to meet."

"I had to be apart from my brother and I missed him terribly. I understand how he and his sister feel."

"Do you still miss him, Yvette?"

"Of course, Robin. I cry into my pillow every night …"

"But just now you were smiling with that man… do you feel any affection for him? I can understand. A woman's weakness is her heart…" he added, knowing the barb would sting.

"Of course not," Yvette glared at Robespierre fiercely. "He killed my brother. I will never forgive that."

"Yet there are some among us that do not trust you. Be careful and _au revoir_ then, dear Yvette," Robespierre tipped his hat and walked off. The blond boy with him hesitated, looking at Yvette through solemn blue eyes. "Your brother will be sad if he sees you this way…" Milien said quietly. "I know I'd only want for my sister Lia to be happy." Smiling winsomely, Milien sprinted after his master. Yvette stared after them. Robin had changed. He was a lot colder and crueler than when they had first met so long ago. A chill ran through her. She clutched at her silver cross for reassurance.

* * *

"Bon appetit!" Yvette placed the cheese and bread on a large broadsheet she had spread on the bank. D'Eon realised that the broadsheet depicted a rather naughty sketch of a couple he could recognize as the late king Louis XV and his paramour Pompadour. "Er, could we use the other side instead?" he asked. "Oh, does the royal romp offend you, Sir D'Eon? You're such a prude!" Yvette giggled. She flipped the broadsheet over and D'Eon was treated to an even more obscene depiction of the same couple rendered in black ink. He choked on his mouthful of bread. Yvette chortled.

"Uncle D'Eon!" Natalia located her uncle. She ran down to the bank and skid the last part of the way to their little picnic. D'Eon immediately crumpled up the offensive broadsheet and sent it flying into the river lest Natalia's innocent eyes catch sight of it. The cheese and bread tumbled on the sand.

"You're getting sand on everything. Here use this!" Natalia yanked out of her vest a broadsheet that was an exact copy of the one D'Eon had sent downriver. He snatched it from her immediately and sent it the same way as its fellow. "Where do all these things come from?" he asked. "From Jean Paul's presses. They allege improper relations between certain members of the royal court. A picture says 1000 words. He used to do some featuring Queen Marie but Robespierre put a stop to that. He let it be known that if any broadsheet attached scandal to Queen Marie's name, Jean Paul shall be tied to his printing press and tossed into the Seine."

"Gee, nice to know he cares…" D'Eon dourly nibbled at his cheese. Robin always admired Queen Marie. "But the broadsheets about my mission, they slandered Queen Marie… Did they come off Jean Paul's press?" The time spent in the coffeehouse was an eye-opener. He had heard similar whispers in the tavern last week but the audience in the coffeehouse included students and scribes, not just ignorant workers or farmers. There were even a few ladies of considerable social standing present. It would be unthinkable for servants and their masters to mingle in public as they did there.

"Well, I overheard in the coffeehouse that Robespierre put in a special request for that one. There were only a few prints made and the rumours were spread by mouth. He would get his cronies to read from the broadsheets. It will be useless staking out the same coffeehouse. The place will be quiet for the next few weeks until we have forgotten about the dead men. Six dead secret police. I guess I have some reporting to do later," Yvettte drank from the goatskin of milk she had purchased.

"How did you learn to fight like that?" D'Eon picked at his bread.

"From my brother. He used to fight with a dagger before he became a knight and had to learn to use a proper sword…"

"He's a very good teacher. I would like to meet your brother someday. Is something wrong?" D'Eon asked. Yvette looked away for a moment before turning her face back towards him.

"You held up quite well yourself, D'Eon." Yvette smiled. D'Eon felt a warm feeling in his heart. Something he thought he would never feel again after losing Anna. Could he have been so likely to find love again. But Anna… He looked at the calmly-flowing waters before him.

Natalia observed the grownups with amusement from a few yards away, munching away on an apple. "One silver coin says he'll kiss her before the picnic is over," her twin crept behind her. She passed him an apple over her shoulder. "I say she'll kiss him. If they decide to spend the rest of the day kissing under the bridge, we'll go fence on the roof of Notre Dame," she said. "Right, this time I will beat you, Lia," Milien gave his sister a hug from behind.

"You can always try, Max."

To the children's dismay, there were no kisses. The grownups finished their meal in an easy silence on the banks of the Seine.

* * *

"Good heavens, you all reek! Where have you been?" Lady Sophie shrieked at them as soon as they stepped through the back door. The trio sheepishly bowed. Burgundy had tightened the guard around Versailles and Yvette had opted to use some forgotten waterways that ran under the royal compound to get in. It was a tight fit in many places for D'Eon, who was taller than Yvette. The grand noblewoman scowled. She was wearing an apron and was apparently in the midst of cooking with disastrous results.

"Burgundy had the gall to summon Rochefort so we had to cancel our little tête-à-tête for lunch. Then I had to try my hand at cooking my own lunch because anything that comes from the main kitchens for here is probably poisoned on Burgundy's orders!" she indicated the blackened pan in the oven. "Yvette, freshen yourself up first. I want one of your hearty veggie soups. I don't think we can save any of the roast but we have a cured ham and potatoes you could work with. Perhaps you could fix up dinner too. I did grab a bit of bread while waiting for the roast to burn…"

"Yes, ma'am," Yvette hurried off to her room. "Don't forget the rose water, girl. The stink of the city always sticks to you like grease on a rat!" Lady Sophie called out after her. Then she turned her attention to D'Eon and Natalia. "You boys go take a bath as well. Yvette will need all the help she can get sorting that oven out." She ripped off the apron and tossed it to the floor. D'Eon and Natalia were about to retreat to their room when Lady Sophie changed her mind. "Sir D'Eon, wait a while. I need to speak with you."

D'Eon returned to the kitchen while his niece hurried ahead. "You have been wearing skirts for a while now. I believe it is time for you to resume your proper place. Tomorrow morning, we will attend Mass together with Auguste at the cathedral. I will convince him to lift your punishment." D'Eon balked. The entire royal court would be present. He would have to attend in a dress. It was not so bad when Lady Sophie's small household attended Sunday service at the small royal chapel. Lady Sophie always went for the evening service when most other nobles were out preparing to party the night away. The priest who held the service was a meek white-haired man whom Lady Sophie seemed to enjoy debating theology with. Other clergymen might view some of her ideas as heresy.

"In God's grace. Can a king who unreservedly breaks his vows to his wife, mismanages the country and wantonly orders the deaths of innocent men, women and children be in God's grace, Father?" she had once asked in a thinly-veiled jibe at her own father and King Louis XV. "What is God's grace?" the Lioness of Versailles had asked with the pious tone of a nun, cut crystal rosary in hand. They thought the poor priest would die of apoplexy on the spot.

He would love to stop wearing dresses all the time. _But to attend Mass in a dress with the entire royal court watching…_

"Are you up for the gamble? If we pull it off, you could even be assigned to Auguste's personal guard. If fortune fails us and the duke sticks his nose in, we could be looking at a long stay in the Bastille."

"Well, I…"

"We are not only playing for you, but your sister's children as well. There are two Nat de Beaumonts. One of whom holds the Psalms. I may have only one eye, D'Eon, but I am not blind or deaf. Your face is like an open book. You show your emotions too easily. One Nat smells of the city's coffeehouses while the other smells of the gardens of Versailles. Both have been under my roof at some point in the past few months. We have to do something about them."

"Lady Sophie, they're just children!" D'Eon protested. "They didn't mean any harm." Lady Sophie studied him coolly.

"Auguste was a child when he ascended the throne, as was his father before him. Childhood is a privilege those who bear royal blood are often denied. The little ones are lucky I that they are two. I do not wish to harm the little ones. I only want you to bring them to the birthplace of the Psalms. Their father's bones still lie under those ruins. If it is possible, bring them to wherever you laid your sister to rest. The children should pay their respects to their parents and if possible seek their blessing and protection. Now go."

**Author's Notes: **

Yvette is a somewhat ruthless spy. She plays the revolutionary to a tee. Or maybe she's really one of them. I believe I have dropped enough hints on who her brother is.

D'Eon hasn't noticed that Yvette is apparently not bothered by the presence of 2 Nat de Beaumonts. Lady Sophie has caught onto the twins.


	12. Sunday Tea

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 12 – Sunday Tea**

D'Eon was lying on his bed. He could not sleep. Something was hovering at the edge of his mind and he could not shake it off. It was more than nerves at the coming day. Natalia had awoken screaming from a nightmare and now snuggled next to her uncle on the bed, one arm across his chest. Natalia never had such terrifying dreams before. It scared him. He glanced over to where his Sunday dress was.

There was someone else in the room. He slipped free of Natalia's arm. His sword was within reach. The intruder was slim, dark-haired and wore a white nightgown. In the moonlight, it glided towards the painting of Lia and her fellow knights. A hand reached out to stroke the canvas. There was a flash of silver. The figure raised a sword, its point towards the ground to her lips and kissed it. D'Eon grabbed his sword and sidled over. Yvette. That dishevelled mop of dark hair could only belong to her. He saw the blank eyes of a sleepwalker. He stepped aside to let her pass. As silently as she had come, she glided out. D'Eon made a mental note to lock his door before bed.

It struck him then. Their attackers had identified Yvette as female despite her boyish haircut and the boy's clothes. Her cover had been blown. The secret police probably knew of her undercover missions into Paris. He must speak to Lady Sophie. It might be too dangerous for her to continue. He crawled back between the sheets.

"Uncle D'Eon?" Natalia rubbed sleep from her eyes. Her sleep-mussed hair framed her face like a golden halo in the moonlight.

"Sorry if I woke you," D'Eon replied. Natalia shook her head. "She has been here, hasn't she? She comes in the night to see him…" Natalia looked over to the painting. She climbed out of her uncle's bed and walked back to her own.

* * *

The following morning dawned bright and clear. Lady Sophie wore her Sunday best and put both her attendants in matching gowns of blue and green. Natalia wore a smart page boy's livery of cream and blue. Yvette wore her blond wig. D'Eon had his hair done up and piled on his head to match her. Of course, Yvette was a good deal shorter and darker than he was. They were never a matching pair to start with. A hush settled over the assembly the moment they stepped in the cathedral. Lady Sophie had forgone her veil, exposing her face and the scar she bore to all.

Trying to ignore the sniggers and stares he drew, D'Eon looked at the stained glass windows and tiles. It struck him then. It was the very same cathedral where his sister died. Their party paused right on the spot where Lia had fallen so that Lady Sophie could greet their young king who sat in the first row of pews.

D'Eon could feel the king's gaze on him as Sophie tried to speak on his behalf. Auguste's tone was reluctant. "I don't really need more guards in my retinue…"

"Will you at least allow him to resume his rightful place as a knight of France? It does get confusing having a man run about in skirts…" D'Eon clenched his fists and looked at his skirts. Beside him, Yvette reached out to hold his hand. There were a few more minutes before the service started and they will need to take their place in the back of the church. "He is a good swordsman…"

"But I already have a sword master… Besides, the age of the sword is over… It will not make any difference whether I can fence or not…"

"Lady Sophie, what brings you here?" The regent had arrived. He strode up to them. "I see you have brought rabble into church again," he glared at Yvette. Yvette scowled at him. "Such a creature would be more befitting for a bordello than a holy cathedral…" Yvette gasped as the duke quite openly groped her rear. D'Eon hurriedly pulled her away from the smirking nobleman. Yvette was furious.

"Leave your lecherous thoughts at the door, this is a holy place," Lady Sophie growled in warning. The duke suddenly let out a cry of pain. "I've been killed!"

There were shouts of alarm. D'Eon saw blood seeping through the back of the duke's vest. Both Yvette and D'Eon were unarmed. Only… He spun round. _Natalia!_ No, it was Maximilien. The blue-eyed boy hurriedly sheathed his short sword without batting an eyelid. "Get a doctor! Hurry!" someone called out. Milien took his chance to run off. Lady Sophie glared at the page's retreating back.

"Well done," their mistress said quietly. She motioned to her attendants that they should leave immediately. "That child takes after his father… he never failed to surprise me even as a child," she whispered.

* * *

D'Eon found Natalia back at the chateau. She was still in her nightclothes. She had not left with them that morning. To D'Eon's chagrin, her brother was there too. The pair sat on Natalia's bed poring over the accursed book. "Is he dead?" Milien asked. "No, he was wearing two inches of padded clothes… it's only a scratch," D'Eon admitted. "Thought so. I didn't stick him that deeply…" Milien said quietly. "Pity."

"What will happen to us, uncle?" Natalia asked. D'Eon lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm stuck in a dress for the foreseeable future as Lady Sophie's lady-in-waiting. And you can thank heaven no one else really saw who stabbed the duke." He shuddered at the memory of the chaos that followed his nephew's exit. The duke's men had stopped them from leaving and searched their persons, roughly patting them down. Lady Sophie was spared the humiliation of a search as the king vouched for her innocence. It was impossible for her to stab the duke when she was standing in front of him. Yvette lost her temper and started to yell and curse at the guards in words more suited for a sailor than a lady.

"Sorry, uncle…" Milien said apologetically. "How's Yvette? That creep started it, pawing her like that… He reminds me of Jean Paul, who always has his paws on the serving girls."

"That creep happened to be the Duke of Burgundy and the regent. You could have ended up in the Bastille. Yvette's washing up now, but she will be fine." Yvette had actually lashed out in the end, kicking a guardsman in a very painful spot. She earned herself a split lip for her pains. In all, it was a disastrous Sunday morning.

Lady Sophie entered the room and tossed a bundle of old clothes to D'Eon. She barely glanced at the children. "Sir Knight, I want you to make a little trip into Paris. Don't let Yvette see you leave. You may take the little one along too. Whichever one can lead you to the former page Robin. Then you will go to this address at this appointed time and seek an old acquaintance of ours. I shall not leave the chateau today as the duke's spies are probably waiting for me to do so." She passed a piece of paper to him.

* * *

In the end, both children insisted on following him into Paris. D'Eon chose to wear the men's clothes he had been provided with. This time he was a scribe with two young apprentices. They found Robin easily enough in another coffeehouse where he had just finished a speech. While D'Eon and Natalia remained in the crowd, Milien ran forward to greet his guardian. Robin laughed as he lifted Milien into his arms. The pair seemed to get along well, as if they were father and son or brothers. Robin was far too young to be the boy's father.

There was a slight movement as a young woman came forward from the crowd. Yvette. D'Eon recognized her despite the hood. She had not worn her wig. She was supposed to be at Versailles, resting. Surely he must be mistaken. He was not. She spoke to Robin, calling him by his old name. _Was she undercover?_ D'Eon did not want to confront her and risk exposing them all.

"Send my regards to Madame Roland, Robin, should you call on her…" Yvette said as she waved to the revolutionary. Robespierre tipped his hat at her after lowering his ward to his feet. Robespierre and Milien mounted the stairs for their rooms above the coffeehouse.

"D'Eon?" a familiar voice called to him in a harsh whisper. D'Eon turned. It was Sir Rochefort. "Is that girl Lady Sophie's attendant?" D'Eon nodded. Sir Rochefort was dressed simply, as if he were a merchant or schoolmaster. He was to call on Rochefort at his home later and did not expect to see him in the coffeehouse. "Was that child Lady Sophie's page?" D'Eon shook his head. "The page is here," he patted Natalia's arm. She was sitting beside him all along.

"They could have been twins…" the old man murmured. "We should leave, scribe. Robespierre is dangerous enough… I almost couldn't recognize you in trousers, D'Eon."

"Neither did Robin," D'Eon had to admit. They probably expected to see him in a dress now. "Will you recognize me if I start wearing dresses?" Natalia asked with her young brow scrunched up as if in deep thought. D'Eon had to laugh. It would be interesting to see Natalia dressed as a little girl again. Her hair had grown out sufficiently for a stubby little ponytail. It would take more time for it to be long enough for braids.

* * *

An hour later, they were in a modest townhouse in a respectable neighbourhood of Paris. Sir Rochefort had purchased it after Anna's death since his original home seemed far too big and empty after that. He still kept a crew of servants to keep the place in order on the off-chance he needed the premises to host a party. It was not easy to let go of ancestral lands.

"So this child is your sister's daughter? And Lady Sophie has her as a page?" Sir Rochefort grinned broadly. "It's difficult to fence in skirts…" Natalia explained. They were seated in Rochefort's parlour. "She has her mother's spirit," the older man admitted. "What do you intend to do about the other one?" D'Eon was speechless. He had not really thought about that. Natalia replied on his behalf.

"Max can take care of himself. We meet up once in a while, but he says he wouldn't leave his master."

"Does Lady Sophie know about your brother?" Natalia nodded in reply. "Yvette knows too. Max's master and friends know as well. I guess it will take a while for Etienne to figure it out. He's so dense…"

"This morning, was it you or your brother who stabbed the duke?" Sir Rochefort asked. D'Eon almost choked on his tea. The old knight was present there to witness his humiliating entrance and exit. "Max did it. He couldn't stand seeing people like the duke bully others, especially women. He didn't really mean any harm… Sticking a sword in someone's back is a bit low. I would prefer fighting them head-on. May I have another gingerbread man please?" Natalia smiled sweetly.

"D'Eon, you have been writing to your mother, haven't you. She thinks you and your sister are in St Petersburg."

"That's my idea. Max and I grew up there. We know the city so well. I tell uncle to write about the white night, and the fall rains… We will have to tell grandmother about the blizzards and the ice on the Neva soon."

"Sir Rochefort, how's my mother?" D'Eon asked.

"She is holding up well enough thanks to your letters. You should drop by and visiting sometime, as Lia or D'Eon. It is getting late, you better return to Versailles… I will be going that way as well," Sir Rochefort finished his tea.

"To meet with Lady Sophie?" D'Eon asked. Natalia had drifted off with her half-eaten gingerbread man to the window and was admiring the view of the Seine.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. I will be meeting with the others," Rochefort looked away secretively. "Do be careful, sir," D'Eon said. He did not like the idea of his family friend being involved in some palace intrigue.

"Beware of Yvette, D'Eon. Her loyalties are questionable and more so than her brother's was. Do you know who her brother is?" D'Eon shook his head. "Yvette is a good girl, though her methods are a bit direct. She does not have the discipline of a noble and her youth makes her hot-headed."

"She is the bastard daughter of a minor noble in Marseilles, sired on a gypsy dancer in a brothel. She was schooled by Madame Roland, a woman known for her revolutionary views." D'Eon almost dropped his teacup. "She does have a half-brother who was a knight. This brother has since died. I believe you may have known him when he was alive. Her appearances in Paris caused concern to her brother and she has been sent back home by him on more than one occasion. One may say her brother knew her character the best."

"Yvette likes Uncle D'Eon," Natalia cut in suddenly. "It drives her positively crazy and she would rather die than admit it. Max says it is so much fun to see her fidget every time uncle is about," she giggled. D'Eon gaped. He would have to watch Yvette more closely.

**Author's Notes: **

D'Eon is still stuck in a dress, no thanks to his nephew's meddling. More doubts about Yvette are raised.


	13. Honeyed Wine

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 13 - Honeyed Wine**

"D'Eon, what is with you? You have been watching me all evening," Yvette looked up from her dusting. "N-nothing…" D'Eon glanced down at his embroidery. He pricked his finger again. Beside him, Natalia grinned mischievously as her fingers worked on the same tablecloth. Lady Sophie observed the going-ons from her end of the vast table cloth. Yvette never did any embroidery as Lady Sophie declared her fingers too clumsy for such delicate work. Yvette walked past them on her way out the room. The swish of her hips under that apron of hers brought a flush to D'Eon's face.

"Gracious, I do believe she is flirting with you," Lady Sophie smiled as she started on a new lily. "You seem to be attracted to her…" she left her words hanging. D'Eon turned beetroot red.

"Will I have to call her aunt soon?" Natalia giggled. D'Eon made an excuse and left hurriedly.

He ran into Yvette in the hall. "Yvette… I, er," the knight stammered. Yvette smiled and before he could react, kissed him on the lips. "Yvette?" D'Eon gasped in shock. "What…"

"It's a kiss, D'Eon. Nothing more…" she smiled coquettishly and glided into the parlour. D'Eon touched his lips. She tasted like honey.

* * *

"Robin?" Yvette paused in mid-step. Her mistress had sent her to Paris to fetch a new hat from the haberdashers' and she did not expect to run into him or Milien. The blond child looked wary and clung close to Robin. "We need to talk, Yvette. Would you have an hour or so to spare?" He took out his pocket watch and opened it. It was her brother's once. "Yes, shall we speak in your rooms or rent one nearby?" Yvette asked dryly.

"A room, Yvette? I thought that little thing between us is ended. I don't see any point in rekindling that, since you have your D'Eon now…"

"It was two summers ago. We were both young and foolish then. But I trust your business with me is not for the entire street to hear…" Yvette had just spotted Cagliostro and Lorenza huddled furtively in the shadows of a nearby doorway. She wondered if Robin knew he was being followed. His eyes darted in the direction of Yvette's gaze and a frown crinkled his brow. The pair were too nosy at times.

In the end, they settled for a room in a known house of assignation where many so-called reputable townsfolk used as a love nest. Robin thrust a protesting Milien into the care of Cagliostro and Lorenza with strict orders for them to take him back to their inn. The room Yvette chose was lavishly-furnished for their standards, nowhere near the grandeur of Versailles but passable for an up-class brothel. Robin wondered if she had chosen the most expensive room on purpose.

"Shouldn't let this go to waste…" Yvette uncorked their complimentary claret and poured out two glasses. She offered one to Robin.

"Truth is the Brethren are all concerned about your loyalties. You are getting too close to D'Eon and Sophie. It will be best for you to return to Marseilles…" Robin sipped at his wine. Yvette was lovely in an exotic way. D'Eon must be a eunuch or a saint not to even be attracted to this dark Venus, Robin smiled. The revolution was a cruel business. It might be better if Yvette was sent home.

"No, not you too. My idiot brother, now you… I swear, Robin, I am every bit as committed to the revolution as you or any one of those poets you call your friends. Stop treating me as if I am a weak little girl!" Yvette swigged a mouthful of claret and grabbed Robin by the lapels, pulling him in for a kiss. The bed creaked under their weight. Hands roamed desperately over both cloth and skin, until Robin pulled away. "Why does every quarrel I have with you end up heading this way?"

"Because you can never win when we are in bed together," Yvette smiled wickedly. "Damn it! Your brother would be so disappointed in the both of us…" Robin sat up, dislodging Yvette from around his neck. "If you wanted, you could have made an honest woman out of me, but no. Monsieur Maximilien Robespierre can't wed a half-gypsy servant to a member of the royal house."

"It wasn't like that! I want you back in Marseilles and put some evergreens on Durand's grave for me, will you?" Robin groped for his vest. He had sworn to end their fling once he found out Yvette was Durand's sister. There was no point dragging her into the revolution. He found out later that she was a member of Madame Roland's network of instigators. Yvette was probably a revolutionary when he was still Queen Marie's loyal page. He thought Durand should have left his watch to his sister, not him. Of course Durand might not have guessed at his sister's potential or sympathies.

"What do I have to do to prove my worth to you guys?" Yvette complained as she grabbed her blond wig. Her bodice was still unlaced, exposing her corset and the tops of her breasts. "Do I have to kill D'Eon and Sophie?"

"You know, it just might work, Robespierre," a voice cut in. "Jean Paul Marat," Robespierre hissed. He tossed the covers around Yvette to hide her nakedness. The poet was leaning by the door. With him were an apologetic Cagliostro and a very peeved Lorenza. There were bruises on the woman's face. Robespierre guessed she had lost a poets' battle with Jean Paul. Jean Paul shot him a contemptuous look and left.

"Sorry, he insisted we bring him to you…" Cagliostro said. "Master!" Milien ran up to Robespierre, who instinctively lifted him into his arms. It would have to stop soon as Milien was growing up fast. "He wanted the book, but I left it with Lia…" Milien eyes bugged when he saw who was sitting half-dressed on the bed. "Master Robespierre…" he lowered his head so that he could whisper into his guardian's ear. "You have to let her go…"

"She does not wish to go," Roebspierre let Milien slip out of his arms and onto the floor.

"Yvette, you have to make up your mind! You can't be with Master Robespierre and Uncle D'Eon at the same time," Milien chided innocently. "You can choose to run off with Uncle D'Eon or stay with Master Robespierre and the revolution… or you will lose everything!"

"It's the same with you and your sister, isn't it?" Yvette retorted. Milien shook his head. "That's different. Max and Lia are one and the same. We are together no matter where or how far apart we are."

* * *

The first flakes of winter were falling outside. Natalia had come down with the flu. Milien had started feeling feverish about the same time. Robespierre had the unenviable task of nursing his charge through his illness. Yvette could not help but wonder at how similar both Robin and D'Eon looked as they fussed over their charges. Robin had declined to attend a few important meetings rather than entrust Lorenza or Cagliostro with Milien. She had seen him keeping vigil by Milien's bed while the boy fidgeted in the throes of his fever. He almost looked like the old Robin she recalled. Despite his illness, Milien kept the Psalms tightly clutched to his chest, which only compounded his wheezing. They had to prop him up with pillows to ease his breathing.

Lady Sophie had sent for a doctor. The doctor had administered some medication, which Nat de Beaumont had been unable to keep down. D'Eon had to feed Natalia with sops of bread dipped in warm milk. She had been sick all over her cot and D'Eon moved her to his bed so Yvette could change the soiled sheets.

"D'Eon, what am I to you exactly?" Yvette asked when she returned with fresh sheets. D'Eon almost dropped the cloth he was sponging Natalia's brow with. "Well, I-er…" D'Eon stammered. Yvette was a beauty D'Eon had to admit it. The colour crept up his cheeks at the memory of that kiss. Yvette could be tart at times, but she had taught him about how to disguise himself, move in the shadows of the Parisian underworld under the noses of the revolutionaries. She had helped the twins meet secretly. She was a trusted friend of his, and possibly something more… He could not admit it to himself.

"I think you look very handsome in breeches… it is ridiculous, isn't it? Making you wear a dress…" Yvette prattled nervously. She glanced over to the painting over the fireplace for reassurance. "Maybe we could consider leaving…" she approached him. D'Eon sponged his niece's face. "Goodness me, that was a nasty wound…" Yvette exclaimed when she saw the scar on Natalia's throat. D'Eon nodded. Natalia whimpered softly and tried to pull the covers up to her little nose.

Yvette placed a hand on his shoulder. Her arms wound round his shoulders. "Damn you, D'Eon de Beaumont… I think I may have fallen for you…" He could feel her warm breath against the nape of his neck and warm moisture… _was she crying?_

"Y-Yvette…" D'Eon gasped. He put the cloth back into the ewer on the bedside table. "It is late. You should get some rest…" he took her hand.

Yvette's room was modest in comparison to the one he shared with Natalia. Lady Sophie had once told him that his room was the same one used by his sister during her short stint as her attendant. That room could have easily been set aside for a guest. "Will you stay with me a while, D'Eon?" Yvette's hand felt almost delicate against his.

She kissed him deeply on the lips. Despite his resolve to return to Natalia's bedside, he found himself giving in to that kiss. "Hold me please." Yvette gently but firmly leaned into him so that they landed on her bed. That was it. D'Eon shook himself free. "Yvette, we can't! I promised Lady Sophie… we are not married and, well, I respect you too much to…" he spluttered. Yvette smiled sadly. "Sophie is not back yet but I understand, it is too soon, isn't it?"

"Yvette… you are a nice girl and you deserve a lot better than a disgraced noble like me…" D'Eon looked at his feet. "You can't forget your late fiancée, can you? I was warned about that." D'Eon ducked as a pewter ewer sailed through the air. "Get out of here, Sir D'Eon!" Yvette said coldly.

"UNCLE D'EON!" Natalia let out an ear-piercing shriek of fear, possibly in the throes of a nightmare. D'Eon went running, leaving Yvette alone with her tears.

* * *

Lady Sophie spent the entire night out. She only returned at dawn when Nat's fever broke. She did not remark on why a puffy-eyed Yvette greeted her in the hall. She only glanced speculatively at D'Eon as he fed his charge breakfast in bed. Natalia was up and looking decidedly perky.

"Uncle D'Eon?" Natalia asked. "You do like Yvette, don't you? I really wouldn't mind if you married her and went off to live somewhere else… I have Lady Sophie here…" she looked up as the noblewoman walked in. "Let me guess, Yvette confessed her love and you snubbed her affections," Lady Sophie tapped D'Eon's head with her folding fan.

"Well, I thought we should get married before doing it…" D'Eon said. Lady Sophie's eyes widened. "Could it be? Our knight is celibate? And I thought the old tradition is for our male knights to spend the night celebrating in a bordello after they're knighted. Tell me de Beaumont, have you ever been with a woman?"

"N-no, not in that manner…" D'Eon spluttered. "I could allow you two to get married if you are both agreeable," Lady Sophie said thoughtfully. "The only problem I foresee is who will wear the breeches in your union. Yvette is as headstrong as your sister was. You should consider starting a little family of your own… far away from here, of course… Naturally, the little one will remain here as my page. Someday, he will become a knight of France."

"Do you mean me or my brother, my lady?" Natalia asked. "Both, if he is willing," Lady Sophie smiled. D'Eon caught a gleam in her eye that chilled him. _No, he could not let Natalia or Maximilien become a pawn in whatever court struggle the Lioness has planned. _

"I am sorry, my lady. I must decline your offer. Even if I were to wed, I cannot leave Nat behind. I promised my sister that." The Lioness of Versailles did not deign to reply to D'Eon's declaration. Instead, she glided silently out of the room. Yvette glared at the back of her mistress as Lady Sophie stalked off to her own room and bed. Soft-footed, she went into her own room and retrieved her brother's rapier from its case.

"D'Eon is such a fool…" she whispered to the blade. "Why are you knights such idiots?" Lady Sophie was unlikely to let Nat de Beaumont go.

**Author's Notes: **

There is a bit of a love conflict here now. Robin and Yvette had a relationship once, possibly a very passionate one and Yvette is now trying to start one with D'Eon. In my opinion, they should really take their chances with their relationship given their circumstances. But knowing how straight-laced D'Eon is, nothing will happen until they have taken their marital vows.


	14. Poison

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 14 – Poison **

"The truth is, Maximilien Robespierre, you know nothing about the true power of the Psalms. You are only a little boy stumbling along in the dark," Madame Roland's voice chided in his mind as Robespierre stared out into the fading night. Milien slumbered in his bed peacefully. Madame Roland would be returning to Marseilles soon. He was glad of that. The woman was getting too close to Jean Paul for his liking. She had brought another of her charges to be apprenticed to Jean Paul at his press. There had been another purpose in her coming to Paris.

Lorenza tapped on his door. "Come in, the door's open."

The woman stepped inside to report the results of her spying. "Master Robespierre, you were right. Madame Roland met with that brown-haired bitch before going to the printers. The girl has been given instructions. Madame then told Jean Paul to make an example of the girl if she should fail."

"I see," Robespierre stroked the hair of the sleeping boy. He had no illusions as to what those instructions involved and their eventual result. Roland was losing her grip on the moles she had planted in Paris to act as her spies and agitators. _It was nice knowing you, Yvette…_

* * *

In Lady Sophie's manor, her attendant nervously looked about her. Certain that no one was around, she took out a small vial from her bodice. _It's a potent poison, my dear child._ Madame Roland had smiled as she spoke. _You should be free of that old woman._ _Frame the other attendants if you have to. Or kill them as well. There's enough in there to kill twenty men. Fail me, and your brother's soul will be in peril…_

_Don't use my brother against me, Madame. Yvette's hand went immediately to her dagger as she spoke. Her former mentor watched in bemusement. A dagger was useless against a seasoned poet. _

_He died because of that man and his sister, did he not? He died as a gargoyle. Surely you do not believe his soul can be at rest under those circumstances. _

_You lie!_

_Ask your former beau, Robin. He was there when De Beaumont killed your brother like a dog…_

She had other news she had learnt while spying, news that would aid her mistress in her coup. She scribbled in a piece of paper and crept into the room D'Eon shared with his niece. _Perhaps…_ "Brother, please… what shall I do?" she asked and stroked the painted canvas.

"D'Eon?" Yvette found D'Eon practising his fencing with Etienne and Natalia. "Will you teach me fencing someday?" she asked. D'Eon ordered his students to stop their sparring before turning to her. "But Yvette, you handle a dagger even better than I do. I believe in our work, a dagger is more useful than a bulky sword."

"What if I should need to act as a soldier someday?" Yvette asked. D'Eon stepped up to her, a training rapier in hand. "You hold the blade like so…" he gently placed the hilt in her hand.

"You will have a new mother soon, Nat. Your pa's taken a shine to her…" Etienne said, wiping his brow.

"He's not my pa," Natalia corrected. "Strange, the guys in the barracks all say you're his…" Etienne bit his tongue before he could say 'bastard'. Nat would most likely run him through for that.

_Max, I don't like it. Yvette's acting strange…_Milien frowned as he stared at the words on his window. He licked his finger and traced out his reply.

_I know, Lia. Master is acting weird too. He has Cagliostro and Lorenza watching Jean Paul. _Natalia watched the words on her mirror fade away. She should watch Yvette carefully too.

* * *

Dinner. Yvette emptied the poison into the bottle of table wine and swirled the bottle to mix the poison before re-corking it. She placed the wine on the table next to Lady Sophie's chair. Sir Michel Rochefort was expected to join them for dinner. D'Eon was changing out of his lady-in-waiting dress into man's clothes. Four places have been set. They would recruit D'Eon, take him into their confidence regarding the upcoming coup. That much she knew. Lady Sophie used her chess pieces well. Afterwards, they would drink a toast to their success and Yvette would be away from Versailles before their deaths were discovered.

She did not notice Natalia watching her movements from behind the heavy curtains of the dining room. Once she was gone, the page stepped out of hiding and seized the wine bottle. _Poison,_ she uncorked and sniffed the wine and caught a whiff of bitter almonds. Natalia nodded solemnly and opened the window, emptying the bottle's contents out into the dead roses outside. She replaced the empty bottle with one of identical vintage as the original.

"Yvette, are you ill? You look pale…" D'Eon observed as he took his place at the table. Yvette shook her head. She was to wait on Lady Sophie at the table. Sir Michel was late. Natalia sat beside him. Lady Sophie fretted as she waited. There could be a host of reasons why her guest failed to show.

"Yvette, we have waited long enough! Serve dinner now and open the wine." The lady's patience had run out. Sophie held up her wine glass to be filled. "Allow me," Natalia uncorked the wine bottle and poured out a measure of wine, not into Lady Sophie's glass, but her uncle's. "Perhaps uncle would care to taste the wine first?" she said in a half-joking manner. "A poison test? How thoughtful," Lady Sophie laughed. She trusted her hand-picked servants enough not to fear them poisoning her. D'Eon smiled as he took the glass. Yvette blanched as he lifted the glass to his lips.

"No, allow me," she snatched the glass from his grasp and gulped the contents. To her surprise, she was still alive. When she shakily placed the glass back on the table, Yvette noticed Natalia's eyes on her. "I guess it is safe then…" the page said and filled Lady Sophie's wine glass. "Yvette, do take a seat. I doubt Sir Michel will be joining us," Lady Sophie nodded. Maybe tonight was not the time to take both Michel and D'Eon into her confidence regarding the plot.

There was a lone messenger from Rochefort. Sir Michel had slipped on a patch of ice and hurt his back. The doctor had ordered a week of confinement to his bed. He sent his apologies to Lady Sophie.

"Nat, you knew…" Yvette whispered when she ran into the page alone in the hall. "Why did you try to kill them? Did someone order you to?" Natalia retorted. "You love my uncle, don't you?" Yvette fled for her room.

"He killed my brother… but I love him…" Yvette yanked out the rapier from its case. Outside, the first snowfall of winter was falling. She kissed the hilt of the weapon. "Durand, what am I to do? Is your soul really trapped as Madame Roland tells me?"

_Steel yourself, Yvette…_ Madame Roland's voice whispered in her ear. _Women cannot rely on love alone. You have to fight for what you believe in. Take up the sword if necessary, bloody your hands. _She wanted to trust her mentor. Madame Roland had taught her to read and write in her brother's absence. She had protected her and the other poor children. There was always that vision. Even Robin shared that vision of a new society, free of the chains of nobility and class. For liberty, fraternity and equality…

There are other ways to kill apart from poison. Yvette gripped her brother's sword tightly and stepped from the room. Lady Sophie should be taking her bath now. D'Eon and his niece could deal with whatever mess she left behind.

* * *

In a respectable inn, a woman watched the water in her ewer with amusement. Her face is beautiful but the lines of her mouth hinted at cruelty. A boy slightly older than Milien popped his head out of his covers. "Whatever amuses you now, Madame?" he asked sleepily. He was disappointed his apprenticeship to Jean Paul had died before it even started.

"Go to sleep, Camile. Have an early night. We will leave at dawn," she smiled at the boy. He nodded and dutifully lay down on his cot. They would be back in Marseilles before long and he would be back with his friends at the Roland House.

* * *

Yvette shook her head to clear it. She was standing outside the bath with a sword in her hand. There was a figure coming down the hall. She raised her blade awkwardly in readiness. "Yvette?" It was only D'Eon. The knight was wearing his nightgown. A frown was on his face.

"Wake up," he took her by the shoulders and shook her firmly. He knew he should not wake a sleepwalker but I dreaded to think what would happen if Lady Sophie came out of her bath and saw Yvette in such a state.

"Release me, you murderer!" Yvette shrieked and swung her blade at D'Eon. Reacting instinctively, D'Eon leapt clear. The blade was too heavy for one unused to it like Yvette was. He recognized the rapier in that moment. _It was Durand's. Yvette's Durand's sister._ It suddenly made sense to him that odd déjà vu sensation he got when he looked at her sometimes.

"Uncle, catch!" D'Eon lifted his hand to grasp the hilt of the short sword Natalia tossed his way. It was her misercorde, more a dagger than sword in his hands. He was to fight with an unfamiliar weapon too. He did not have time to think more as Yvette launched herself at him with the fury of a wildcat.

The door to the bath opened. "Snap out of it, Yvette!" Lady Sophie shouted imperiously. She was only wearing her chemise with a shawl thrown over it. Yvette paid her no heed. D'Eon parried. The unholy rage in Yvette gave her strength but she was inexperienced. "Lay down your sword, Yvette! I do not wish to hurt you!" He was being pushed back into the wall by her fury.

"You are holding your blade too tightly," D'Eon observed. Soon her muscles would tire and her arm cramp. "Nat! Stand back!" Natalia was trying to approach the duelling pair. A lucky thrust slid past his defence and grazed his shoulder before lodging in the wainscoting behind. Yvette yanked at the blade. There was snapping sound. The long thin blade broke. The end was lodged deeply in the wood. The backlash sent the broken rapier flying. It slashed into Natalia's arm. She let loose a choked gasp of pain and fell. There was so much blood. "Natalia!" D'Eon immediately went to her aid. He tore strips from the hem of his nightgown to staunch the bleeding. It was a nasty wound almost to the bone, but it seemed to have miraculously missed any major vessels or nerves.

"What have I done?" Yvette stared in shock at the broken sword in her hand. She had broken her brother's rapier. It was streaked red with blood. Slowly, she sank to her knees.

"What you have done is a sin. You have spilled innocent blood," Lady Sophie intoned quietly. She threw something before D'Eon. "Punish her, Sir Knight. This is an order." D'Eon saw that it was a heavy broadsword that lay before him. Lady Sophie was ordering him to kill Yvette.

**Author's Notes:**

Reviews? It is this too sudden? Should Yvette die? Lady Sophie is pissed because Nat got hurt. She has her suspicions about Yvette's loyalty too.


	15. Cathedral Gargoyles

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Yvette lives for now, maybe…

**Chapter 15 – Cathedral Gargoyles **

"Lady Sophie! She is not well… Yvette sleepwalks," D'Eon defended. "She appears to be fully aware of her actions, Sir D'Eon," Lady Sophie replied. Yvette remained kneeling, staring at the broken sword in her hand in shock. "Tell us, Yvette. How long have you been acting against us? How long have you been working for the Revolutionary Brethren?" Lady Sophie questioned. D'Eon bound the linen strip tightly around Natalia's arm. A doctor must see to that arm. Stitches might be needed.

"Pick that damned sword up, D'Eon!" Sophie ordered. The knight forced his hand to close over the hilt of the broadsword. It was a wicked weapon, heavy and well-designed for one purpose, dealing out death. Yvette's eyes met his before she opened her lips. "You old fool! You're a toothless lioness! If you want to know anything about true loyalty, ask my brother!" Her eyes dared D'Eon to deny her words. "God left you with one good eye but you still will not see the truth! The royal family is blind to the suffering of the people!"

SLAP! Lady Sophie slapped Yvette hard. "D'Eon, kill her now!" Natalia grabbed onto her uncle's arm, shaking her head slightly.

"No," D'Eon let the sword fall from his grasp. "Sorry, Your Highness, I can't." SLAP! D'Eon rubbed his cheek. Lady Sophie had slapped him as well.

"Both of you, are you planning a revolt under my roof?" Sophie raised her hands in exasperation. "Yvette, you are hereby discharged from my service! You will leave from under my roof tonight!" Sophie ordered. "Take your belongings and leave now!"

Natalia grabbed Sophie's wrist. "No…" she shook her head. "She should not leave, not now…" Sophie frowned at the young page. Blood was seeping through the crude bandage on Nat's arm.

"Nat needs a doctor for his arm," D'Eon tried to distract their mistress. "Besides, it is snowing outside. Perhaps Yvette can leave in the morning when the snow stops…"

"That will not be necessary… my brother's soul is lost. They will never let us go…" Yvette shook her head. "I will leave now." She started for the door.

"Wait," Sophie called out. "I allow you to return to your room and pack for the journey ahead. I don't wish for you to freeze to death on my doorstep." Wordlessly, Yvette returned to her room with her brother's sword. A few moments later, she returned with little more than a small bundle. She was dressed adequately for the snow in her warmest clothes. She wore a man's coat and riding breeches under a cloak. She had her brother's sheathed rapier hanging from her belt. Wordlessly, she walked out into the snow and in the direction of the stables.

"Go after her," Natalia nudged D'Eon. "You should tell her…" D'Eon glanced at Lady Sophie. The old noblewoman had her good eye closed. "Go," she whispered. D'Eon ran out after Yvette.

"Yvette?" She was already saddling her gelding when D'Eon caught up with her before the stables. "Are you here to stop me?" she hissed.

"No," D'Eon shook his head. "But…"

"Nothing you say can change anything!" Yvette swung herself up into her saddle. D'Eon grabbed the reins. "What you say about Durand's soul is not true. We saw him leave, go into the light… Lia and I tried everything we could to save Durand, but he is safe in God's hands now," D'Eon said. Yvette hesitated. Their eyes met. She suddenly leaned over so that their lips met in a kiss. Surprised, D'Eon loosened his grip on the reins. She took them from him. "Farewell, Sir D'Eon…" she kicked her horse's side, urging it on. "If you want to know who has been unfaithful to the princess, ask my knight brother," she added cryptically.

D'Eon leapt out of her way and floundered into a snow bank. "Wait!" he hollered. The snow smothered his words. He touched his lips. He should have stopped her, he chided himself silently. White flakes were still falling.

* * *

_Not good. Yvette is in danger if she leaves the Lioness._ Milien scrawled the words wetly on the holy water font of the Notre Dame cathedral. It was a cold night to be out in the open and his companions had the misfortunate of being tossed out of their rooms by an odd innkeeper who was pro-royalist. Lorenza and Cagliostro huddled miserably in a corner under a heavy fur cloak. Seemingly oblivious to the cold, Robespierre lingered by the open door, waiting.

_I know, Max._ Natalia frowned at the words that appeared in the mirror. Her uncle was warming himself by the fire. "I should have stopped her," he chafed his hands together to warm them.

* * *

At Notre Dame, Robespierre peered through the thinning snowflakes. A horse was approaching. He reached for his pistol. "For liberty, fraternity and equality…" The revolutionary let his hand drop to his side at that familiar voice. The rider dismounted and tied her horse under the shelter of the side porch before dashing up the stairs to greet Robespierre.

"For liberty, fraternity and equality… are D'Eon and the old lioness dead?"

"No, I can't… I am here to say goodbye, Robin… Guilliard told me where to find you," Yvette replied as she lowered her hood. Snow clung to her ragged brown tresses. "I will leave for Marseilles in the morning…" Robespierre frowned. Guilliard was one of Jean Paul's apprentices. Jean Paul would know about Yvette's failure and…

"Lorenza!" Robespierre roused the drowsing woman. They could expect Jean Paul to make his move soon. Young Milien grabbed his book and was scrawling something on the cathedral flagstones with a candle stub.

* * *

In Versailles, Natalia took an inkpot, quill and a sheaf of paper to the desk. Working swiftly, she sketched a crude map of the cathedral she and her brother had spent hours exploring in their free time. _Max, we are in this together._ Her hand trembled. The doctor had dressed her wound but her arm was still stiff.

_Right, Lia._ Milien prayed that whatever he had learnt from Robespierre and Lorenza was sufficient to help Yvette.

* * *

"Is something wrong, Robin?" Yvette sensed the uneasiness in both Milien and his guardian. "Is it Jean Paul?" Robin wordlessly uncorked his hip flask and offered it to Yvette. "Have some brandy to warm up, you're blue with cold." He dug into his coat pocket and produced a dry crust which he offered to Yvette. "You look half-starved." Yvette smiled. "Bread and wine, just like the first time we met. It was here too, wasn't it?" She took a swig of the brandy and bit into the crust.

* * *

_Young Robin knew he shouldn't. Not so early in the day and in a cathedral, but it was a rare morning off and the coolness of the cathedral was preferable to the heat outside. He uncorked the wineskin and took a swig of the wine within and promptly made a face. It was poor fare, but it was what he could afford. "Tastes bad, doesn't it? They sometimes water their wine with vinegar," a girl his age giggled as she sat down next to him. "You can have it…" Robin corked and thrust the wineskin at her in disgust. _

"_Got some bread?" she asked. "Here…" Robin produced a loaf from his coat. Her accent was from Southern France. The dust of travel clung to her skirt and her boots were worn. She looked almost scrawny. "Are you a beggar?" The girl glared at him. _

"_No, I'm waiting for my brother… You're right, I shouldn't eat for free. Want to have your fortune told?" she offered in exchange for the bread. Before he could reply, she took his hand in hers and ran her palm over his upturned one. "I see a pistol…"_

* * *

"You were right then, Yvette… Her Majesty gave me a pistol that afternoon and sent me on my first real mission…" Robespierre chuckled. It echoed in the dim cathedral.

"My brother knocked me out with the hilt of a dagger and packed me home to Marseilles," Yvette smiled at the memory. She kissed Robespierre on the cheek. "I still like you better as Robin than Robespierre."

"Whatever happens, stay inside the cathedral," Milien warned his companions. He worked steadily over the flagstones, replacing his candle with a fresh one from the altar whenever he had worn his stub down. Robespierre peered out into the night. The snow had eased but they could hear shuffling sounds approaching. Scratching sounds echoed along the walls.

"A poet…" Lorenza gritted her teeth and summoned her powers. The psalms glowed on her arms. More psalms glowed where Milien had hastily scribbled them on the flagstones and walls. The boy hurried with his work, reaching up to the windows to add more words. Yvette ran her palm over Robespierre's. "I see blood…" she gasped. "So much blood and death."

* * *

"Natalia?" D'Eon noticed his niece hunched at the heavy desk. "Lia?" For a terrible moment, he thought he saw not his young niece but his dead sister sitting with her hand on the desk. The lines of the psalms ran onto the paper like glowing rivulets. He blinked. It was only Natalia but the concentration on her face was all too real. The determined set of her chin was like her mother's. "Uncle, the rosary Lady Sophie gave you…" the words were forced out through gritted teeth. "Pray hard… It will be a long black night."

_Gargoyles…_ Robespierre gripped his pistol. _It was Jean Paul's work, alright. _The monstrous shapes growled and snarled. Yvette drew her dagger. Lorenza recited a poem under her breath. _"Deliver me, O my God, out of the hand of the wicked…" _The lines Milien had scored on the floor with candle wax glowed golden. Cagliostro whimpered in fear and cowered behind Lorenza. Jean Paul was not a poet to be taken lightly.

"_O Lord, remember thy covenant and steadfastness,"_ Milien held up his hands as if in a trance. _Lia, they are here…_A sharp pain struck in his chest. He gasped. He could sense them approaching, hungry for human flesh and blood. Stone claws screeched against stained glass.

_I know, Max. I am with you,_ Natalia could hear her brother's words and sense the sickly sweet stench of fear. Their uncle knelt beside her desk, gripping his rosary of red coral and silver. Somehow D'Eon understood something was happening between the twins and they might need his help. Natalia gasped as her neck started aching. A drop of blood dripped onto the paper. She drew her misericorde and placed it alongside the paper and inkpot. The letters 'NQM' glowed eerily blue on its hilt.

**Author's Notes:**

A group of revolutionaries trapped in Notre Dame Cathedral and facing an imminent gargoyle attack, can Natalia and D'Eon make a difference? I noticed that Lorenza's powers seem to be able to control animals and animate armour. Wonder what Jean Paul's speciality is?


	16. Red Snow

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 16 – Red Snow**

"Watch out, Robin!" Yvette yelled. Robespierre had one foot outside the cathedral. A stone gargoyle lunged at him. The beast hissed and sank its claws into Robespierre's calf. The redhead let loose with his pistol. The slugs barely chipped the granite. It was one of the misshapen stone beasts that guarded the edifice of the many medieval buildings in the city. Yvette yanked Robespierre backwards across the threshold of the cathedral but the stone beast did not relinquish its grip. She drove her dagger into the creature's face but the blade snapped in her hands. It snarled at Yvette, forcing her back. The creature tried to drag Robespierre out.

"Master!" Milien shrilled. He ran forward to their aid. Lorenza slumped over from the effort as the burden of maintaining the perimeter fell on her shoulders. Beads of sweat glistened on her brow despite the cold night.

"_In the name of the Heavenly Father, be gone!" _the blond youngster shouted. A ghostly sword appeared in his hands, slicing into the stone as if it were only butter. The gargoyle dissolved into dust and foul smoke. There was no sword in Milien's grasp. The blood pulsing out of Robespierre's leg was all too real. Yvette tore the hem of her cloak and bound up his wound. The blood stained the cathedral flagstones as they dragged Robespierre away from the threshold.

"Milien, she can't keep it up!" Cagliostro whined plaintively as he searched for a safe hiding place. The stained glass windows were starting to crack from the attacks of the gargoyles Jean Paul had unleashed. Milien dashed over to Lorenza. He placed his palms on the flagstones, summoning the power of the Psalms from both himself and his sister. A stab of pain ran through his chest as he did so. The protective barrier they had cast around the cathedral walls glowed.

* * *

"Natalia?" D'Eon glanced at his niece in concern. The girl had the sword gripped firmly in her hand. Blood was seeping through the collar of her shirt. "Uncle, please…" she said firmly. Max needed all the help they could give.

"What's going on?" Lady Sophie demanded as she stepped into their room. The uneasy pulse throughout the manor had not gone unnoticed. She gasped at the sight of Natalia and the blood staining the front of her shirt. "It's those Psalms, isn't it?" she said. She whipped out her own rosary of amber beads and stood with them clasped in her hands, joining D'Eon's fervent prayers. With a bloodstained finger, Natalia traced patterns onto the paper before her.

D'Eon saw the Notre Dame Cathedral as if his spirit was flying overhead. The gargoyles kept battering at the glowing barrier. Red patterns appeared in the pristine white snow around the cathedral as Natalia reinforced the defences of her brother. The creatures shrieked and drew back into the empty square before the cathedral. He could see inside the cathedral. Lorenza was being supported by her companion. Milien was holding himself upright with the aid of a tall iron candle-holder. Yvette had a moaning Robin in her arms near the altar. Robin was injured.

"It's Jean Paul's work… They are after me," Yvette whispered. She made her decision in that instant. "Robin, please stay as kind as you were…" She kissed the redhead on his lips.

"Yvette, no!" Robin shouted and reached for her. His badly mauled leg slowed him. Milien reached out for her arm but he overbalanced and stumbled onto the flagstones. The iron candle stand clattered noisily on the stones. Yvette paused a moment. "Please take care of him, Maximilien Perrault… and stay as you are," she addressed Milien by his true name and that of his foster family. She dashed on past the Italians and through the open cathedral doors. D'Eon shouted wordlessly as she ran past him.

The attack was swift and savage. All the gargoyles were on her in a flash. They knocked her to the snow in the square. Yvette drew the broken sword from its scabbard and screamed as stone fangs severed her sword arm at the elbow. Stone claws slashed open her belly. A pig-like beast crunched down on her leg, shattering her shin bone.

Blood sprayed as the demons started ripping into her body, disembowelling and dismembering their helpless prey. D'Eon flew over to her aid. He was holding a sword, Natalia's short sword… Yvette was screaming in agony… He must save her… He couldn't fail Yvette in that…

"_It's too late, D'Eon. I'm sorry…"_ Lady Sophie's voice tugged him back to the room in Versailles. D'Eon opened his eyes. He was lying sprawled on the floor where he had fallen. Both Lady Sophie and Natalia were bent over him. Shakily, he got to his feet. Wordlessly, Natalia drew away. She was still holding the short sword in her hand. Blood dripped off the tip. With a vicious howl of rage, she thrust it clean across the room, straight into the painting over the fireplace.

"D'Eon, this was not the first time another used your body and your strength, wasn't it? Nat could not have done it alone. Not as a child. Yet in the end, he chose to deliver the mercy stroke himself," Sophie watched as Natalia fell to her knees sobbing. D'Eon nodded. He was exhausted. It was just like the time his sister had used his body at Mendenham Abbey.

"I was too weak," Natalia moaned and beat her breast in grief. D'Eon dragged himself over to her. He lifted her up into his arms and carried her to her cot.

* * *

"Master Robespierre, I'm too weak. I must become stronger…" Milien blinked away his tears as he stumbled past his companions. He stood over what remained of Yvette. The gargoyles had retreated once Yvette's soul fled her broken body. "Sorry, Yvette… I must become stronger. I cannot stay the way I am."

The shrill whistles of the night watch forced Milien to run for the safety of the cathedral. The commotion had not gone unnoticed. Many would have guessed who was responsible and why Yvette had been killed. It was a clear warning to all revolutionaries sent by Jean Paul and Madame Roland about what fate awaited those who failed in their missions.

* * *

"I should have killed him then when I realised who he was," Sophie said dryly. "Perhaps we would have been spared all this…" She sat down on a chair and beckoned D'Eon to sit in the one beside hers. Natalia had settled into an uneasy sleep.

"Maximlien Robespierre came to me for help when Louis XV turned down his request. He was very much in love with your sister. I had no idea then he was my little brother whom I sent away. We went to Louis' bedchamber but he was away that night. Borglie came along and I went out to distract him, leaving Maximilien alone. That was when he discovered the Psalms, or maybe the Psalms called out to him. When I returned, he was holding the book and I knew. I ordered him to leave so that I may plead his case before Louis. He was to meet me here in this house later. I spent a greater part of the night waiting for him with a bottle of poisoned wine. He never showed up. Perhaps the Psalms warned him. I'm surprised he did not see fit to kill me."

"My guess is that he knew that you saved his life when he was a newborn. Perhaps the Psalms told him that. Lia's death tipped him over the edge… He chose to flee rather than confront anyone. Perhaps he had no desire to kill anyone. The man Lia loved was not a murderer. Then Lia was murdered…"

"D'Eon, thank you. You are a lot kinder than most to a forgotten old woman. Good night. We can do nothing more for Yvette, poor girl. I have sorely misjudged her. Our enemies are stronger than I thought. Tomorrow morning we will go to Notre Dame." The old princess glided out of the door.

Natalia called out weakly in her sleep. "Max, don't go…" The hairs on the nape of D'Eon's neck stood on end. She sounded like Lia.

* * *

"Oh Yvette," D'Eon gingerly picked up the severed limb. Durand's sword was still firmly in those dead fingers. Numbly, he placed the limb on the cart. He had worn man's clothes for this, the nondescript clothes of a servant. Sophie's unmarked carriage waited round the corner. Natalia was sleeping in. Only Sophie waited in the carriage. The night watchmen had left the body where it was for the mortuary cart to collect in the morning with only a lone guard to chase off any scavenging dogs. D'Eon was not too surprised to see a young lad assisting the grateful guard in his job.

D'Eon knelt beside Yvette and closed her dead eyes. Her innards were strewn over the snow. He looked away at the sight. There was a single sword thrust to her heart, the mercy stroke dealt by Natalia. The boy came over to kneel beside him. "I was too weak, Uncle," Milien whispered as he pressed Yvette's bloodied silver cross into D'Eon's hand. They began the grim task of loading the bloodied remains into the cart to be brought to a nearby morgue. They knew a pauper's grave waited Yvette unless they could intervene.

"I will be leaving for Marseilles with Master Robespierre," Milien said as he walked away. "Wait," D'Eon got up and ran after him. Turning the corner, he stopped. A coach had stopped by the roadside. This one was a more humble vehicle than Lady Sophie's. Lady Sophie had disembarked from her carriage. She was speaking to a redhead, Robin. The revolutionary was leaning heavily on the shoulder of the Italian Cagliostro. He had a crude bloodstained bandage round his calf.

"Robin, it is still not too late…" Sophie said. "This is the path I have chosen, _princess_... The glitter of Versailles is nothing but a façade of fakery. The core is already rotten. You should know that. D'Eon and Yvette would have reported to you what the people feel. The king will not listen. I hear the duke is negotiating a marriage for him with some Austrian princess," Robespierre replied. "Milien, let's be off," he called out to the boy. "Give her a Christian burial, please," Milien asked. He wiped his bloodstained hands on his pants. Sophie nodded, her eye closed.

"She will be laid to rest in consecrated ground, near her family," she promised. "I will do all I can to grant her that." Milien smiled brightly as he followed his master into the coach.

_Max, must you go?_ Milien could hear his sister's chiding voice in his head. _You know I must, Lia._ He picked up his precious book from where he had left it in the coach.

* * *

Natalia sat up in her cot, staring at her hands helplessly. The Psalms were with her twin and he was leaving her in Paris. The damaged painting had been removed from its place. The absence bothered her. The painting of her mother should be there, watching over them benignly.

"Nat?" Etienne's voice called out from under her window. She pulled herself out of bed and over to the window. "Lord in Heaven, what happened to you?" Etienne has bleeding from his face. The boy was only wearing a shirt and breeches, despite the winter day. She ran downstairs to let him in.

Someone had beaten him up. Nat grabbed a teacloth and started dabbing at his wounds. She stoked the fire in the parlour and set the kettle on. "Who did this?"

Etienne looked away. "He didn't mean it. He was drunk last night, has been drunk since my ma died…" he winced in agony when Natalia touched a sore spot on his jaw. "I had to tell you, my pa, the princess Sophie and a good many of the men, they are planning something… please tell your lady not to get my pa involved," he begged. "They will be killed…"

"No, your pa is not one to back a losing horse. Burgundy will be unseated eventually," Natalia said with conviction. "Not you too," Etienne moaned._ I do not trust your father, Etienne_, Natalia thought. De Janiere had manhandled her grandmother, uncle and their family servants when he arrested D'Eon. He was a callous and cruel man, but calculating as well.

"Where's Yvette?" Etienne asked. "Dead," Natalia replied.

"What happened to her, Nat?"

"I killed her," Natalia replied. Etienne's jaw dropped. "Don't jest with me, Nat. It isn't funny." Natalia chose not to reply. The sword had been cleaned and was lying upstairs in her room.

* * *

It was settled. Yvette's remains were too badly damaged for embalming. They would have to wait for the flesh to rot before collecting the bones for transport back to Marseilles. Lady Sophie made the arrangements to leave the remains in a small crypt under a chapel.

"Lay her to rest beside her brother." D'Eon nodded at Sophie's instructions. "In the meanwhile, you should visit your mother sometime before leaving for Marseilles."

_If you want to know who has been unfaithful to the princess, ask my knight brother._ She had left those parting words with her. What could he ask Durand, who had already gone into the light. _Had Yvette's soul gone into the light too? _He had not seen her soul leave. Lady Sophie and Natalia had drawn him back to his body before that. He would have to ask Natalia later. They rode back in silence.

**Author's Notes:**

That's it. I have killed off D'Eon's love interest and Robin's. D'Eon sure is unlucky in the romance department.


	17. Etienne

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 17 – Etienne **

"You could do something," Natalia glared at him accusingly through her blue-green eyes. "Natalia," D'Eon lowered his sword. Their breath hung in the frosty air. Natalia tossed her weapon into the air and caught it by the hilt deftly. Etienne had shown up for his lessons inadequately clad for a cold winter day and with a black eye. Natalia had refused to spar with the boy. The redhead now sat on a bench with D'Eon's shawl over his shoulders as he nursed an ugly bruise on his leg.

It was well within de Janiere's right and responsibility as a father to discipline his offspring. D'Eon knew the captain had a heavy hand, having witnessed one of the beatings he dealt out to Etienne. Surely, this was not his concern… D'Eon glanced at his student. Etienne was sporting an ugly bruise on his face and he was clutching at his right side as if it were sore. D'Eon recovered himself just in time to parry a thrust by Natalia.

"You should pay attention, Uncle," she grinned impishly in the same manner Lia used to whenever she caught a slip in D'Eon's concentration during their sparring. Their match was not yet over.

It was true that Etienne often turned up for his lessons with bruises on his face and limbs but D'Eon never thought too much of that. In his childhood, his own father had found it necessary to discipline both him and Lia on the odd occasion they misbehaved. The trouble was he found Etienne an obedient boy. When questioned, the boy claimed he had fallen or was in a fight. Etienne was not the type to get into fights with other boys.

"The captain beats him up whenever he gets drunk," Natalia had whispered when their blades locked, forcing them close. Yvette's remark came back to haunt D'Eon. _De Janiere will never maim his only son when sober… _He would have intervened then if not for the fact Yvette was there to stop him. Clearly, the captain's been hitting the bottle and his son more than even Yvette would deem reasonable now. And Yvette was the one who had to dodge both her parents when they were drunk. She had admitted that about her family if she had not been lying about that.

"Etienne, has the captain been beating you?" D'Eon finally had to ask at the end of their lesson. "N-no, s-sir…" the boy looked at his feet. D'Eon knew he was lying. Etienne thought the world of his father. The redhead boy took his leave of them.

"The next time, he might be killed," Natalia folded her arms and scowled as she watched her friend leave. She turned to face her uncle. _You let Yvette leave and she got attacked by those gargoyles, _her eyes accused.

"I will drop by the barracks this evening…" D'Eon raised his arms in surrender. It was a gesture he had used with his sister whenever he had given up arguing with her. "I will go with you," Natalia said matter-of-factly. "Will you be going to speak to Etienne's father in a dress?" D'Eon nodded solemnly. He had not thought of that yet. Everyone in the palace grounds knew he was ordered by the king to wear women's clothing. Perhaps he could pretend to be a washerwoman. Natalia was practising her fencing moves with an unexpectedly deadly edge.

"Natalia, leave your weapon at home," D'Eon added as an afterthought. Her twin's attack on the duke was still fresh in his mind.

* * *

He had dreamt of Yvette the night before. She had stood before the fireplace in his room staring at the space where the painting of his sister had been. Her clothes were torn and bloodied. _Have you asked the last knights of the Secret who has been unfaithful, D'Eon?_ She had asked in his dream before he awoke.

Lady Sophie readily agreed to let them go to the barracks after dinner. "It is odd, but I could have shown that the captain looks upon his son differently since his wife's death," she remarked. Etienne's mother had died in autumn after a sudden illness. After that, Etienne started sporting bruises.

The palace guards' barracks were as rowdy and boisterous as those of the dragoons. D'Eon steeled himself as he adjusted his shawl and bonnet. He was going in as a washerwoman. He wished he could have worn his old dragoon uniform but that could be trouble if Captain de Janiere decides to report him for disobeying the king's orders. Natalia was going as Nat the page. She was doing a good impression of being interested in the guards' weapons and uniform. "I wish I could be in the guards when I'm older," she said wistfully as she reached out to touch a guard's musket. She pouted when the guard snatched it out of her reach.

"When you're older, boy," the guard laughed and ruffled her blond hair. She laughed along with the guard and clambered onto a barrel. "Could you tell me about the adventures you have had?" she asked eagerly. Distracted, the guard did not notice D'Eon entering the compound behind his back.

"Pray tell me where is Captain de Janiere?" he asked a young recruit. "He's over in his rooms, ma'am," the youth pointed at a shed. "_Merci_," he thanked the boy and headed for the building.

"If you hear his boy hollering, I would advise you to leave him be," the recruit added at his back. "Ain't you taking the laundry with you?" he pointed at a cartload of tubs of folded clean sheets and shirts. The laundress had left her cart unattended while she chatted with a handsome guardsman. D'Eon grabbed a tub of folded clothing. He was hopeful when he drew near to the building. It was quiet. There was only a flickering candle casting a pool of light from the shed.

Cautiously, D'Eon walked to the window, set down his tub and peered within. His blood ran cold. His student was sprawled on the wooden floor with blood matting his hair. A shattered bottle lay beside him. The captain sat in a corner drinking and unconcerned with the welfare of his offspring. A slight movement of the boy's foot informed D'Eon that Etienne still lived. D'Eon thanked heaven in that instant. The movement did not escape de Janiere's notice.

"Get up, you wretched brat!" Etienne gasped as the captain hauled him up by his hair. "Please, papa…"

His plea fell on deaf ears. The captain kicked him in the ribs. "Don't call me that, you bastard!" D'Eon winced. This had gone on far enough. He ploughed through the snow drifts until he was at the door. He rapped on it. "Laundry," he croaked in a close imitation of an old woman's voice.

"Leave it at the door!" the captain roared. More blows sounded from within amidst screams of pain from Etienne. D'Eon tested the door. It was latched from within. He knew the common latches used in the barracks. He reached for a thin piece of wood which he slid in deftly through the door and the door frame. Thankfully, it caught on the latch and he was able to lift it smoothly. Yvette had shown him this particular trick on several occasions.

Tub and laundry under his arm, D'Eon pushed open the door. The captain was grinding Etienne's hand into the glass shards on the floor with his boot. He looked up at the intrusion.

"How the hell did you get in? I said leave it…" he slurred. Wordlessly, D'Eon hit him on the side of the head with the wooden tub. The man went down like a sack of potatoes. A trickle of blood ran down his face.

"You killed him!" Etienne squeaked. D'Eon bent over the captain. "He's only out cold and drunk." The captain started snoring, much to D'Eon's relief. D'Eon turned his attention to his student. The boy was in bad shape. "Etienne, you need a doctor…"

"No, I'll be fine…" Etienne coughed and was horrified to see blood on his hands. That was bad. They had no time to lose. D'Eon scooped the boy up into his arms. Etienne was little more than skin and bones. He had been gangly to start with. He carried the boy out through the guard's compound. This time, his passage did not go unnoticed. Clearly the guards knew their captain had been ill-treating the boy but no one dared speak out. A number averted their eyes when they caught D'Eon's glare.

"Where's the doctor?" he demanded. There should be an army doctor in the barracks.

"Doctor Holsburg has gone home to Paris… we could send for him…" a guard volunteered.

"There's little time." They would have to ask Lady Sophie for help. The court doctor would have to be summoned. Natalia was waiting for him at the gate.

"Is he alive?" she asked. "Yes…" he hesitated. In his arms, the boy was turning blue from the cold. Natalia shed her cloak and wrapped it around Etienne.

* * *

They reached the chateau to find Lady Sophie in the company of Sir Michel Rochefort. Rochefort sent his manservant to fetch the court doctor, an old friend of his. D'Eon put Etienne into a guest bedroom. "He never was my papa, was he?" Etienne asked weakly. The boy was semi-conscious. "Please stay awake," D'Eon insisted. They could not have Etienne slipping off before the doctor came. Feeling helpless, the knight took Etienne's injured hand and proceeded to extract glass shards from the lad's palm.

"Sir Rochefort, what brings you here?" D'Eon asked when he finally stepped out of Etienne's room, leaving him to the ministrations of the court physician.

"Your mother," the old knight's whiskers twitched nervously. "Her health has been failing. It will be good if you could see her before…" he looked away. D'Eon blinked away tears. He knew his mother's health had been failing but he never seriously thought that her death might be so soon.

"Tell Jean Pierre and Amelia that Lia and D'Eon will be back soon," Natalia replied on her uncle's behalf.

* * *

"How's the boy?" Sir Rochefort asked when the doctor finally emerged from the room. "He has three broken ribs, possible internal bruising a number of external cuts and bruises. He needs bed rest and nutrition…" the doctor advised. "Which beast has been using my patient as a punching bag?" he asked.

"The captain of the palace guards," Natalia replied. "I guess his mood would be even worse when the word gets out he was smacked in the head by a washerwoman for ill-treating his son."

"I should have guessed. Etienne's mother was a brunette. Two brunettes don't make a redhead," Lady Sophie said dryly and shook her head. "That foolish woman must have told her husband the truth before she died. I will allow the poor boy to recover here. After which, we will make arrangements for his further care. D'Eon, Nat, you are to return to Madame de Beaumont. You should be by her side as her son, D'Eon. Sir Rochefort has graciously agreed to send a country relation of his to fill Yvette's post."

"Emilia is a simple creature. You are most kind to offer her employment in her time of need," Rochefort bowed. "As for that poor boy, I will be glad to open my home to him."

* * *

_Things worked out, Max,_ Natalia scrawled the words onto her mirror with wine. In Marseilles, the words appeared on the bedstead.

"What's that?" Camile exclaimed. Milien calmly seized his roommate by the elbow. "It's only my sister, Camile. Now, hush and go to bed. You will not mention this to Madame Roland." There was something about his voice that forced the older lad to obey. Camile nodded and crept back under the blankets of the bed he shared with the newest addition to the Roland household.

Milien rubbed the words away with his sleeve and waited for his bedfellow to doze off before he crept out of bed. He took a hand mirror from his clothes chest. He took an ink pot and quill from the desk. _How's Etienne?_

_He is badly hurt, but Lady Sophie has the court physician see to him. _

_That is good, Lia, perhaps he would live._ Natalia closed her eyes thoughtfully before she made her reply.

_He will, Max. This I know. _

**Author's Notes:**

I guess D'Eon has redeemed himself in his niece's eyes. Etienne will have a very different path now.


	18. Bare Bones

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

D'Eon will get a chance to be rid of his dresses and live as a man, for a while.

**Chapter 18 - Bare Bones**

"D'Eon! Lia!" Madame de Beaumont hugged her son and granddaughter when old Jean Pierre showed them into her bedroom. The old woman had been bedridden for a week after suffering a fall. Amelia fluffed up the cushions behind her back so that she could sit up. Her mind was still confused. She still believed Natalia was Lia de Beaumont. "Why didn't you bring Anna with you, D'Eon?" his mother demanded.

"Maman, Anna is visiting her father," Natalia lied. "Yes, yes… she should visit her parents…" Madame de Beaumont grinned and nodded. She had forgotten that Anna's mother had died when Anna was not yet seven. She lay back on the cushions and closed her eyes. Soon, she was snoring.

* * *

"It is strange to be wearing a dress again," Natalia said and lifted her skirts above her ankles. She paused by the mirror in the hall. She had worn one of her mother's old dresses after Amelia had altered it a little. The dress was a soft pink trimmed with white lace. Natalia had outgrown the dresses she had brought from Russia. She patted her hair which had been curled by Amelia. There was no sign of Nat the page boy in the mirror. All she saw was a young girl with hair like spun gold framing a solemn face with fine features. She laughed to herself when she imagined Etienne's face if 'Nat' were to show up for fencing looking as she did now. It would be some time before Etienne could come for fencing lessons.

No, the dress was hardly suitable attire for sparring in, she thought regretfully. "_Lia looks pretty in that_," Milien's voice broke into her reverie. "Max?" Her brother was standing next to her reflection in the mirror. He was dressed in a tan vest over a cream shirt and brown trousers. He had the book under his arm. She turned but he was not beside her.

"I am in Marseilles, Lia," he reminded her. "I can't speak with you long. Will you come to Marseilles when Uncle sends Yvette home?"

"Sorry, Max," she leaned in close to press her lips against the glass so that it seemed she was kissing her brother on the cheek. "Grandma needs me here if uncle's going to Marseilles."

"I understand, Lia…" Milien reached through the glass as if it were only air, taking Natalia's hand and raising it to his lips to plant a kiss on it. "How did you do that?" Natalia giggled. "With practise and a bit of magic," Milien smiled mysteriously. His blue-violet eyes twinkled. Madame Roland was eager to teach him the poems, far more than Lorenza had been.

* * *

D'Eon groaned at the stack of bills on the study table. The de Beaumonts were staring bankruptcy in the face. The meagre stipend they received was insufficient to meet their expenditure. He had been selling off pieces of their furniture. His mother had managed to lose the small casket of jewels he had intended to use as Natalia's dowry. It was in Lia's dresser the last time he saw it. Amelia had seen Madame de Beaumont with it one morning and it has not been seen since. No doubt she had given it away to some stranger or dropped it down a hole somewhere.

They could not afford new dresses for Natalia. Amelia would have to alter Lia's old dresses for the child. They would have to sell that Queen Anne chair in the parlour, and his father's collection of history books. That should bring in enough for a new pair of shoes for Natalia, pay their meagre staff and pay off the doctor's bills for a while. Eventually, they would have to give up their manor. He did not look forward to it.

Lady Sophie had been kind enough to give them leave so that they might take care of things back home. D'Eon did drop by at Versailles to visit Lady Sophie once in a while. More often, he was with Sir Rochefort, discussing Etienne's future. De Janiere had let it be known that he did not want anything further to do with Etienne. The boy had recovered well physically, but emotionally… He became quiet and withdrawn.

"He's a bright lad," the old knight told D'Eon. As soon as his health allowed, Etienne was brought to Sir Rochefort's Parisian townhouse. It was clear that the old man intended to take Etienne under his wing. D'Eon was glad of that. He had his hands full with his niece and sick mother.

"The princess is up to something, I wish she would let me in on it…" the old knight remarked in passing during one of D'Eon's visits. It was true. Lady Sophie had acted coolly whenever D'Eon called on her in her manor. She had even seemed eager for him to leave as soon as possible. "She doesn't want Emilia to live in. She had her rent an apartment outside the palace. She only drops in to dust, clean and cook and leaves before dinner."

D'Eon understood. Lady Sophie did not want to endanger Sir Rochefort, the de Beaumonts or her new maid. She was up to something. It was in this mood that he found himself at the small chapel where Yvette's mortal remains rested. The winter had been harsh. Yvette's body had frozen. It was unlikely he would be able to leave for Marseilles until spring came.

"You will leave for Marseilles before spring!" Lady Sophie had declared. She had sent him off to the chapel to check on the preparations with the undertaker. He was also to speak with an old man who was once a court physician.

* * *

"We'll boil the flesh off those bones… It will take a while for them to dry, the former physician explained. He looked like a skeleton himself in the dim light of the chapel. His assistant, a scrawny slip of a child in an oversized leather apron, poked at the contents of a large cauldron. D'Eon felt his stomach turn as a piece of boiled flesh bubbled to the surface. The child fished out the end of a long bone and placed it on a piece of linen to dry.

"You will be able to collect them in two weeks…" the old man wheezed. "Annemarie, remember to fish out the little bones too," he reminded his assistant. The girl nodded and resumed her grisly work.

"What happened to her, sir? The bones are smashed. Got hit by a coach?" Annemarie asked in a serious tone. "Or did she fall off a roof?" She was about twelve, perched on the threshold of womanhood but still a girl. She had the large watchful eyes of a rabbit.

"Shut your trap, girl," the old man warned. The girl picked up the skull using a long spoon, poking at the remnants of flesh that still clung to it. "She was probably pretty when alive," she said quietly. D'Eon nodded and closed his eyes wearily. It still hurt to think of her. "Sorry…" the child apologised.

"I've got a rosewood box in the cart outside…" D'Eon indicated with a slight incline of his head. "Do you think it is large enough?" He tried to change the topic. "Let's go see…" the old man nodded.

"It is odd for a girl to be involved in such work," the knight said once they were standing by the cart. The old man shrugged.

"It's an old practice. For those who died in the Indies or abroad and their families want them bones sent home. They'll cut off the flesh and boil whatever is left. Bones are easier to carry than a whole body when embalming is not an option… As for Annamarie…" he shrugged. "She's my housekeeper's daughter and she was the one who wanted to poke about in bones. Once she tried to embalm the cat after a coach ran it over… Her mother despairs over her unfeminine interests but she's got a talent for making wax models for my lessons. I really must show you that wax hand she made. Nearly caused her mother to die of shock when she found it sticking out of the dresser!" The old man chortled as he lit his pipe.

D'Eon smiled wryly. Natalia was unconventional in her own way. She enjoyed reading, fencing and riding. She preferred breeches to skirts and was often found clambering about in the apple tree or the roof. She did do some sewing with Amelia and her grandmother. Natalia was deft with a needle and delighted in altering his and Lia's old shirts and breeches to suit her needs. There was also the Psalms. Max was not in Paris but the twins were definitely keeping in touch. Natalia kept her communications with her twin secret now with their old servants to be mindful of.

"Well, it looks decent enough," the old man regarded the small casket Lady Sophie had provided. In two weeks, the worst of winter would have passed and the roads to the south open for travel. He would need to hire a coach for the journey. He could hire the two coachmen Durand had introduced him to, if they were still plying their trade in Paris.

* * *

Surprisingly, he found the pair at the first tavern he dropped in on. The men were glad to receive a job as it was a poor season for travel.

"Tragic, isn't it? About Sir Durand," the younger one of the pair ventured. His partner jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. Durand's death had reached his coachmen friends. "Heard he died in a duel here and they sent him home… His sister must be devastated. He always hired us to see her home because she kept running to Paris to be with him."

"Ah, we feel his loss keenly…" D'Eon ordered a mug of ale. He was thirsty after his long walk from the chapel. It was ironic that the same men Durand had entrusted his sister's safety to once would be transporting her remains home.

Etienne recovered and resumed his lessons at the Rochefort manor. Sir Rochefort had decided to move back to the suburbs so that Etienne might recover without the smoky air of the city. Natalia took her lessons dressed as 'Nat' the pageboy. The day of D'Eon's departure for Marseilles drew near. Finally, young Annemarie turned up on his doorstep with a message that Yvette's bones were ready to be transported home.

* * *

In a backyard in Marseilles, two boys were fencing amidst snow banks and piles of firewood. Though lightly-clad for the weather, both were sweating from their exercise.

"On guard!" Camile hissed a warning as he lunged at Milien. Milien deftly parried the older boy's thrust. "Here's one for liberty!" he forced their blades to lock at the hilt and lashed out with his leg, tripping his opponent.

"Mil! That's cheating!" Camile spat snow from where he had fallen. "That's quite enough," Madame Roland called out from the doorway. She was dressed modestly as befitted the wife of a respected doctor and one known for her good works with poor children and orphans. Camile sheathed his rapier and ran in for his dinner. Milien hesitated. _Uncle D'Eon's coming._

"Milien? Are you coming in?" a little girl peered out from the open doorway. "Coming, Charlotte," Milien gave her a winsome smile and sheathed his blade. Charlotte toyed with the end of her dark braid. "Do you miss her?" she asked.

"Who?"

"The girl in the mirror you talk to. I saw you…" Charlotte twirled her braid.

"Don't dare you tell Madame Roland or anyone of that…" Milien drew his sword and advanced threateningly towards the girl. "I wouldn't. I like you too much, Milien," the girl shrugged and cuddled her rag doll. Satisfied, Milien re-sheathed his blade. "Let's have dinner. There's goose pate, isn't there? Doctor Roland told me so at breakfast…"

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon is making a trip to Marseilles, Yvette's hometown.

The method of transporting remains mentioned by the old physician is true. Alternatively, they just cut out the heart and have that embalmed and sent home or where it needs to be sent (this is favoured for nobles and royalty).


	19. Marseilles

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 19 - Marseilles**

Marseilles was a southern port-city with a sizeable army garrison. The journey was difficult with the onset of the thaw. The roads were reduced to muddy quagmires. The pier was a busy place despite the miserable weather. Merchants had set up their warehouses and stores along the pier and the street was packed with carts, coaches and carriages. "Fine fabrics! Hats, gloves!" One merchant shouted from his store. D'Eon paused and looked regretfully at a pair of fawn children's gloves. They would have fitted Natalia perfectly.

There was a seedier side to the waterside. Whores plied their trade among the sailors and soldiers. "Wanna have some fun, young sir?" a young woman sidled over to D'Eon. D'Eon politely declined. He spun round quickly to catch a scrawny pickpocket in the act of emptying his purse. Lady Sophie had been kind enough to provide him with a reasonable amount of money for his journey. "Scat," he whispered to the boy as he retrieved his purse. The youngster gratefully ran off empty-handed. Pickpockets were often locked up in a pillory in many towns.

D'Eon plodded through the mud to the town's graveyard. The coachmen had kindly helped him unload Yvette's casket off at the church. Unfortunately, the priest was away administering the last rites to some soldier at the garrison who had been stabbed by a drunken comrade and was facing death. The old priest's housekeeper had suggested D'Eon take lodging at an inn in town. "The Father will be back in an hour or so… You could take a walk about the market. There's a ship of fabrics in from Sicily. I would've gone there if I didn't need to keep the house…"

He had gone to Durand's grave to pay his respects while the coachmen rested and chatted with the jolly housekeeper regarding the local gossip. Durand was buried in a modest plot on the hill with a simple headstone. The graveyard was already overcrowded and they might have to bury Yvette's bones in the same grave as her brother's. There would be enough space on the headstone to crave Yvette's name and the dates.

The two coachmen had taken full advantage of the local tavern's wares once they had got their horses stabled. Their employment ended at the doorway of the inn when D'Eon paid them in full for their services. He would get another coach for the return journey.

A familiar face on the opposite side of the street caught D'Eon's eye. It was Robin. The young man was dressed like a peasant and covered with grime. He was talking and drinking with a knot of soldiers under a bare-branched tree. They were approached by a grey-haired man carrying a doctor's kit. "We had to take the leg off to save his life…" the doctor said. D'Eon cautiously approached, carefully placing a market cart between him and the men.

"Poor Pierre, there goes his dreams of joining the army…" one grizzled soldier remarked. "Honestly, is it worth it?" Robin replied. "You're right, young man. They pay us barely enough for a rat to live off," another man said bitterly. "What's the fee, Doctor Roland?"

"It is free, if you lot can spare me a bit of your ale…" the doctor said. The soldier gladly offered the man a tankard of ale. A soldier with the beginnings of a beard ran up to the men panting. "Comrades, Yvette is back," he said. There were loud exclamations from the soldiers. D'Eon noticed the doctor walking away with a sad shake of his head. Robin was looking into his tankard of ale.

"How's the young filly? Still feisty?" one soldier guffawed. "Dream on, Felix, she has no eyes for you," his companion slapped him on the back. "Did she get married? Who's the unfortunate chap she dragged down the aisle?"

"Never thought we'll hear from her again since she took off. How long does she intend to stay this round?" an ancient-looking soldier asked. "Still remember when she was itty-bitty girl tagging along behind her mama."

"Er, she is dead. Heard the news from Widow Adele. She came back in a box. The priest asks for volunteers to dig a grave since they had the last grave-digger hung for speaking ill of the king," the messenger replied and was almost smothered by the press of his comrades.

"Damn! Just like her stuck-up brother!" one soldier smashed his fist into the table. "Master Durand was alright until he started working for those damned royals in Versailles," another kicked the ale barrel. "Hush! That talk's treason…" his companion grabbed his arm in warning.

"Well, they keep sending our children back in coffins, if at all!" the old soldier spat. "Well, I have lived long enough and I have this to say. Those damned nobles care nothing for us." The mood was turning riotous. Robin bid the soldiers a good day and fled the scene before the market watch came to break up the riot.

The incident set D'Eon's teeth on edge. It was worse than in Paris. If Yvette had grown up amidst such discontent it was a small wonder she would be part of the revolutionaries. He returned to the inn. He would call on the priest in the morning to arrange the burial. Yvette had no other family left. He was surprised to see Robin was lodged in the same inn as him. Robin had shed his peasant disguise and washed the dirt off his face. He now looked like Master Robespierre. There was no sign of Maximilien about.

D'Eon stepped into a recess to allow Master Robespierre to pass before continuing to his room. He wondered how Natalia was coping back home.

* * *

Robespierre hated to admit it but he missed having Milien about. Caglistro and Lorenza would be contacting their brethren in Italy and report on the situation there. Madame Roland disliked him. Maximilien Robespierre had few friends even among the revolutionaries. With Yvette's demise, he had lost a rare friend. With Yvette, he could laugh and speak of things he once knew as Robin the page boy. They had decided to set Cagliostro and Lorenza up as a Comte and Comtess to impress the Italians. He had spent hours schooling them in society manners before they were ready to set off.

He would have gone with them if it had not been for Milien. He wanted to remain longer in Marseilles to ensure that all was well. Madame Roland did not mistreat Milien and the boy seemed to be settling into the household. The last time Robespierre saw him, he was sparring with an older lad and besting him at it. There was a little girl who kept following Milien about much to the boy's annoyance. Lacing his hands behind his head, he lay down on his bed and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

"Who's the man lodged in the next room?" D'Eon asked the innkeeper's girl when she came with a basin of warm water for washing.

"Master Robespierre? I believe he is some court scribe. There were two others with him, a Comte and his wife but they have left yesterday on a ship for Rome."

"Was there a child with them? A young boy?" D'Eon asked.

"No, are you sure you don't need more blankets, sir?" the girl happily chatted with D'Eon. D'Eon slipped her a coin for her trouble. Maximilien was not with Robin. He did not notice the gleam in the girl's eyes as she curtsied and left the room. The girl slipped out into the back alley where a few soldiers waited. "He is a noble, alright. He holds himself like one…"

"Was he the one they said killed Durand?" a disgruntled soldier asked. "Can't tell. But if he is, he sure has gall to be personally sending Yvette's bones back. But it doesn't matter, does it? Madame Roland warned us to beware of the duke's spies. He may be one. Nobles don't bother coming here just to drop off bones."

"What about the court scribe? I saw that so-called Comte and his lady. They are most likely fakes, thought I saw that Comte peddling hair tonic in St Giles once. But that scribe…"

"We act tonight. There will be a fresh-dug grave on the hill and no one will be the wiser."

* * *

The first sign of trouble came when D'Eon awoke to the sound of many footsteps running up the stairs. He had gone to bed in his breeches and vest. Mindful he might need to make a hasty escape through frozen streets, he pulled on his boots. He seized his sword and took up a defensive position by the door. There was a brief scuffle in the next room. A yell of outrage was hurriedly silenced. In the darkness, D'Eon waited. Finally, his door was kicked in. Two men armed with daggers entered.

D'Eon thrust his sword into the shoulder of the first man and sliced into the thigh of the second. "Stand down, sir!" a woman's voice commanded. It was the innkeeper's girl. D'Eon stared in shock. Two burly men had Robin bound and gagged between them. Rage blazed in the redhead's blue eyes. The woman seized a fistful of red hair and pulled his head up to expose his neck. She lifted her fish knife to the white skin exposed above his collar. Behind them were more men.

"Drop your sword!" she threatened. The point of the knife drew a bead of crimson. D'Eon let his sword fall from his hand. The men wasted no time in binding his hands behind his back, pulling the rope tight to ensure that he could not break free. A gag was tied in his mouth. The pair was half-dragged and half-marched out of the inn and through the streets by the light of a few lanterns. Robin's stocking-ed feet were cut by the sharp stones of the street. The freezing night wind chilled them to the bone.

Finally they came to the graveyard. Silently, he walked through the graves. D'Eon's heart sank when he saw the pit. Several young men and boys were holding shovels and resting after their labours. It was freshly dug grave. He recognized the headstone. It was Durand's. Someone had craved Yvette's name and the year into it. "You took your time…"

"We had trouble with this one." D'Eon was shoved roughly from behind, causing him to stumble and almost fall into the pit. He saw that they have dug all the way to the coffin. The rosewood box containing Yvette's bones had been placed on top of the coffin. He was hauled to his feet.

Robin made a desperate attempt to escape. He jerked free of the man on his right and head butted the man on his left in the gut. To D'Eon's horror, one of the diggers, a young boy, lifted a shovel and smacked him across the back of the skull. He went down like a sack of flour. One of the men kicked him in the side. He did not stir. The blow had knocked him out.

"How shall we kill them? Garrotting? Stabbing?" someone asked.

"Let's just drop them in the pit. They'd freeze to death before dawn. It is too late to bury them…" a boy's voice said quietly. It was Milien. D'Eon looked up. The blond youngster yawned and scratched at his back lazily. He gave no sign of recognizing D'Eon or Robin. The others discussed the suggestion. Two men forced D'Eon to his knees and bound his ankles together. Another pair did likewise with Robin. "We could fill it in tomorrow."

D'Eon was grabbed by the shoulders and ankles and tossed into the open pit. He landed against Yvette's casket. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He felt Robin's limp body land across his legs. A shower of earth rained on them from the many feet scuffing the edges of the pit. The men were leaving them to their fate. The smell of frozen earth was strong. D'Eon struggled with his bonds. Fire shot through his shoulder whenever he moved it. His fingers were numb from the cold. Separated by a few inches of rosewood from his face were Yvette's bones. Below those were Durand's in his oak coffin.

D'Eon struggled more fiercely. There was no telling when their enemies might return to fill in the grave. The innkeeper could have disposed of their belongings and no one would ask any questions. Natalia and his mother would be left alone and wondering what happened to him. He decided he was not going to die. Robin slipped off his thighs. The redhead let out a soft moan. Somehow, he had managed to undo his gag.

"D-D'Eon? You moron… Why did you bother with me?" Robin said in a hoarse voice. D'Eon smiled ruefully behind his gag. He could have fought his way out at the inn, but that would have easily cost Robin or Robespierre his life. D'Eon tried to sit up. "Don't move…" Robin hissed. There was a shuffling sound as Robin positioned himself behind D'Eon so that he could try to work on D'Eon's bonds. He could taste the coppery blood from where D'Eon had chafed his wrists raw. He bit and tugged at the knot, trying to undo it. It was too tight. D'Eon rubbed his face against the wooden lid of Yvette's casket, slowly working off his gag.

"Robin… stop. I've another idea."

"You want to switch places with me?" Robin spat out strands of rope fibres.

"Durand's rapier. We put it into the casket… It's broken but there is still enough to cut with. Help me get the lid off…" Lady Sophie had tossed Yvette's silver cross and her brother's shattered rapier into the casket with the bones. Working together, the pair worked at heaving the lid off with their shoulders. Durand's grave was unexpectedly deep. The sides of the pit threatened to cave on them. If they could free themselves and climb onto Yvette's casket, they could make it out…

**Author's Notes:**

Really D'Eon, a gentlemen to the end, can't let Robin get hurt, can we? D'Eon and Robin being dumped down Durand's grave and left for dead. That is one reunion they could do without. Whatever is Milien up to?


	20. Roland House

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 20 – Roland House**

_Sleep… He was so sleepy…_ D'Eon's eyelids drooped. The cold was almost unbearable. His shoulder was throbbing. They had been unable to lift the lid of Yvette's casket. Their fingers were too numb to work the clasps. After struggling without success, they had succumbed to sheer exhaustion. The shivering stopped then. Now he leaned helpless against the casket with Robin next to him. The redhead had dozed off somehow. A pale shaft of moonlight shone on Robin's dirt-streaked face. He looked so peaceful… D'Eon fell asleep.

"D'Eon? You got to make a move…" Durand stared at him across the chessboard. D'Eon started. He was apparently playing a game of chess with Durand. They were in his room at Lady Sophie's. Lia was sitting by the fire. "Wake up, D'Eon…" Lia looked up from her book and smiled at D'Eon. "You got to go show the young ones… the new order…" D'Eon smiled and shook his head. It was so warm and cosy here. He didn't want to leave. "Not you too… Stop that, Chevalier D'Eon," a voice chided.

Yvette was sitting in the other armchair. Robin was lying against the armchair she was sitting in. He was wearing the livery of a page boy. Several playing cards were scattered at his feet. Yvette stroked the redhead's hair gently. She slowly rose to her feet and walked over to the men. She was wearing her riding clothes and held a riding crop in her hand.

"If you wait too long, you'll freeze to death. So wake up!" she stopped before D'Eon and raised her arm as if she were about to hit him with her riding crop.

Something hit D'Eon in the face. Immediately, D'Eon awoke to find himself back in the freezing grave. It was a rope. "Pass me the knife," a boy's voice whispered. It was young Maximilien. The boy slid down the rope, dislodging clods of earth. Someone held as lantern aloft over the pit. Working quickly, Milien cut their bonds. In a daze, D'Eon was aware of being manhandled out of the pit and into a cart before he passed out.

* * *

It was the smell of eggs and ham that roused him. D'Eon opened his eyes to find himself in a hayloft. A few feet away, Robin was sleeping with a bandage round his head. D'Eon sat up. Someone had put his injured arm in a sling. His shoulder was still throbbing. "How's that shoulder? Let's take a look at it," a brown-haired young man called out. He placed a breakfast tray beside D'Eon. The smell of scrambled eggs and ham filled the loft.

"Francois Tussad's the name. I'm Doctor Roland's assistant. Milien and Camile have filled in the grave…" the young man chattered like a bright-eyed squirrel as he poked and prodded. "Does this hurt? Yes?" D'Eon nodded. "Likely dislocated." D'Eon yelped as Francois tugged on his arm and jerked it upwards. The pain almost made him black out. There was a loud crack. "That should fix it. It's back in the socket…"

"How're the patients, Francois?" Dr Roland called out. "The blond one is awake but the redhead has not come to yet…" Francois crawled over to Robin. "Running a fever…" Francois scrambled down the ladder.

"Sorry for the poor hospitality," the doctor said as he gingerly climbed up the ladder. "Milien caught onto the plan and asked us to help… He's a decent lad."

"How's Milien?" D'Eon asked. "I'm doing fine, uncle…" a soft voice murmured drowsily. Milien was sitting in the straw at the foot of his pallet. He yawned and stretched before strolling over to wolf down a spoonful of scrambled eggs. He did resemble Natalia a good deal in the dim light of the loft. "Please pass these to Master Robespierre. I got them from his room… I better get back to the house before Madame Roland misses me," he passed a bundle to D'Eon before he scrambled down the ladder. D'Eon undid the bundle. It contained a battered silver pocket watch and a pair of pistols. The watch belonged to Durand and the pistols were those Robin had used on that mission so long ago.

D'Eon set the bundle down beside the redhead. "I should leave," D'Eon tried to crawl over to the ladder.

"They will not think to look for you here, not in Madame Roland's stables," the old doctor said wryly. "You two need to recover before you can think of going anywhere."

"My luggage…" D'Eon tried to think of an excuse to leave. "Sorry about that," Francois called out from below. "Milien only managed to get that bundle before the innkeeper's daughter disposed of the rest. We'll get you some travelling clothes…"

"Are they up yet?" another boy's voice called out. "Hush, Camile," Francois chided. A brunette popped his head up at the ladder. "Are you Milien's uncle? You look really alike." The speaker was not much older than Milien was. The boy sat down beside him. "Are you a clerk or a soldier? Or a spy?" He was bursting with childish curiosity. "I know Master Robespierre is one of us… but Madame Roland does not like him much. He was a royal page once, wasn't he? Yvette told me once."

Robespierre slowly came to with a weak moan. He tried to get up. The doctor carefully made his way to the patient. "With that yapping mouth of yours, it is no wonder why Jean Paul refused to take you on. Their work needs a still tongue," the doctor chided. "Get me my bag please." Camile nodded and scrambled off down the ladder. D'Eon made use of his time to study his surroundings in carefully. The hayloft was spacious and airy, set above a stable. The smell of horses wafted up from below. A window opened out onto a fenced paddock, but it was an eight foot drop.

* * *

Robespierre's fever raged fiercely for a week. The wounds on his feet festered and oozed pus before finally healing. Stuck in the hayloft with an injured arm, D'Eon could only wait and watch for his one-time friend to recover. Francois dropped by often to check on them and bring food. Camile and Milien also visited often. Milien was concerned for Robespierre's health and would often spend hours sitting by his bedside until Camile or Francois called him down.

As he slept, D'Eon could see a shadow of the page boy Robin once was. He had to admit that Robin had grown up. Robin was short for his age and thin as a whip, probably a result of hard living since they parted ways. "Yvette…" Robin mouthed in his feverish slumber. "Your Majesty…" he fidgeted as he dreamt of the past when he was a page. Milien, D'Eon and Francois would take turns sponging his brow with a damp rag to ease his fever.

D'Eon observed the goings-on at the Roland House from the hayloft. Madame Roland was a medium-built but formidable woman who ran the household like clockwork. The doctor always deferred to his wife though he did not tell her of his patients in the hayloft. "I know she is a hard woman, but God help me, I love her," the doctor had said. There were at least a dozen children of varying ages in their care and a fair number of youths and young women who visited her. These were possibly her one-time charges like Yvette was. One little dark-haired girl in particular caught his interest. Milien was apparently dismayed by her constant trailing him and Camile. D'Eon smiled. It was like him and Anna when they were children. He was always awkward about girls. Thank goodness Lia was around to smooth things over with Anna. He would never have got as far as betrothal if she hadn't.

"I don't like her much," Milien confessed when questioned. "She's too nosy. She knows about Lia…" The boy looked a bit confused and awkward as he perched on a bale of hay.

"You like her, don't you?" Robespierre whispered hoarsely from where he lay. The fever was breaking. "I don't!" Milien's cheeks turned red, very much in the same manner D'Eon's did whenever they teased him about Anna's letters. D'Eon grinned. Milien was still too young. "Where's the book?" Robespierre asked. D'Eon had forgotten about the Psalms.

"Here," Milien slid off the bale and lifted the corner of the sheet over the pallet D'Eon had been sleeping on. Nestled in a corner of the crude hay pallet was the book. "How's the arm, uncle?" Milien asked. D'Eon gingerly rotated his shoulder. It was still a bit sore, but healing. Soon he would not need a sling. "Mil! Madame is looking for you. The duke is here!" Camile shouted a warning. Milien hastily shinnied down the ladder. D'Eon peered out from the window. A rider on a fine white horse had stopped before the house.

The rider dismounted and handed the reins to Francois. He removed his hat to reveal long black curls, bowed before Madame Roland and kissed the back of her hand. Camile and Milien trotted over for Madame Roland to introduce them to their caller.

"He's the son of the last Duke d'Orleans, Phillippe," Robespierre whispered. He had roused himself enough to join D'Eon at the window. King Louis XVI had reinstated the title of the duke but the old duke was too ill to threaten the throne by now. His son, Phllippe, Comte d' Chantres, was likely to inherit the title soon given his father's declining health. The younger nobleman was more interested in running businesses and hosting intellectual debates than attending court. He also held membership in a number of dubious clubs with links to revolutionaries.

They watched as the Comte laughed at something Milien said. Madame Roland frowned and chided the child. The little party made their way into the house as Francois stabled the Comte's horse.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon and Robin stuck in the Roland's hayloft while they recover. We meet more members of the revolutionary organization in Marseilles. The future Duke of Orleans is calling on their guardian. Could Camile and Milien be set for a place in the future duke's household?


	21. Farewell to Marseilles

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Yes, they have a temporary truce, for Milien's sake. But that is not going to last.

**Chapter 21 – Farewell to Marseilles**

It was odd to be holed up with Robespierre in a hayloft. At first, D'Eon was fearful of discovery by the other members of the household. However, it soon became apparent that apart from the doctor, Francois and the two boys, hardly anyone else uses the stables. His shoulder was on the way to healing. Robin's feet healed and soon he was up and limping. "D'Eon, have you seriously given any thought to the future of France?" Robespierre asked him. "Change is happening… you cannot deny that. The old loyalties will vanish with the death of Versailles."

"That is not so, the King still rules France…"

"Does he? Or does the Duke of Burgundy rule through him?"

"Change is happening, but change cannot be rushed…" D'Eon argued. Robespierre was a fanatic. The hard glint in his eyes told him all he needed to know. Those were not the soft blue eyes Robin had. "The King is still ruler of France, Robin," D'Eon replied quietly. Robespierre frowned. It was fortunate that Milien had been sure to empty the pistols of their bullets before returning them to his master. He felt sick. He tried to stand up. Perhaps it was time for him to leave. He had been enjoying the good doctor's hospitality for too long. The snow was started to melt. His knees buckled and the last thing he recalled was hitting the floor.

D'Eon awoke to find Milien sponging his brow. "Master Robespierre left," the boy explained. "Dr Roland says you caught a fever… I was glad he came to tell Francois you were ill before he left…"

"Max, you do understand what Madame Roland is up to, don't you?" The boy nodded solemnly. "Change cannot be stopped, uncle. There will come a day when there is no king or nobles in this country," Milien added. "It may take a year, ten years, a hundred or longer… but eventually…" he shrugged in a manner Natalia often did when she no longer wished to continue talking. They were so alike.

"The doc says you are to get well soon and join me going up to Paris with Camile. Camile's joining the Comte's service," Francois said as he brought a thin soup and bread for their patient. "Perhaps one day I will follow Camile," Milien chirped.

* * *

A week later, the doctor agreed that D'Eon was fit enough for travel. He wore a suit of clothes that once belonged to Francois, who was the closest in built to D'Eon. A coach was hired for their journey and it arrived one cold grey dawn.

"Please give these to Lia for me, uncle," Milien pushed a small box into his hands. "Think she will like them?" D'Eon opened it. It was a pair of gloves. "She will like them." Milien beamed at those words.

"I will take care of Milien. He's a good lad," the doctor promised as Camile helped D'Eon into the coach. He was still a bit light-headed from his fever. His companions were considerate with regards to his illness. Dr Roland hobbled back into the warmth of the house. Milien stood and watched until the coach thundered out of view. "Is it alright not to tell him the truth, Mil?" Madame Roland stepped out of the shadows of the stables where she had been hiding. Little Charlotte clung shyly to her apron. "You'd never have found out if Master Robespierre didn't come limping into our kitchen for help when uncle took ill," Milien smiled. "I still have so much to learn about the poems." He patted the book he had tucked in his coat.

* * *

The first sign that there was trouble at Versailles came when they made a stop at an inn en route to Paris. "A coup! Fancy that!" Camile ran to his companions with their meal. He had been eavesdropping on the conversation downstairs in the tavern. "Which comte is it this time? If it's Chantres, we might as well head back to Marseilles," Francois jested. D'Eon almost dropped his tankard. He knew who could have had the audacity to stand up to the Duke of Burgundy. Princess Sophie, the Lioness of Versailles.

"How did it turn out?" Francois asked. "Utter disaster, there was this captain who decided to back the Duke instead and the other chaps got hung or tossed into prison. They don't know who put them up to it. No one has disappeared from the French court recently, so the gossip says…" That was because Lady Sophie hardly bothered to show up at court anyway. Now D'Eon was really worried. His former benefactor could be in prison or worse. _Was Sir Rochefort safe? Were Natalia and Etienne safe?_

* * *

It took them over a week to get to Paris with the poor roads. Camile managed to wrench his shoulder falling off the box. It was fortunate he was not run over by the wheels. After that, Francois and D'Eon insisted that he sat inside with them and leave their coachman to his work. D'Eon also learnt more about his companions. At the tender age of nine, Francois was orphaned when his soldier father died from a fever five years after his mother fell off the pier and drowned. Francois could not recall much about his mother but remembered his father as a hard-handed drunk who constantly beat him. Dr Roland who treated his many injuries became a father figure to him. "I want to be a doctor like him one day, if only I could go to university…" he said wistfully. "Perhaps I could save some money from working for Chantres…"

Camile's parents died from the plague that swept through the town when he was four. "My parents just didn't get up one morning. I waited until they came to take them off to the plague pits. Madame Roland asked if I would like to live with her and I said yes," the boy said simply. Their childhoods were a far cry from the one D'Eon shared with his sister. Both were ardent believers in the revolution. D'Eon was beginning to understand why. The king knew little of what was happening beyond the palace. Many nobles cared little about the common people. "Comte d'Chantres is different. He was a commoner for while when his father was in disgrace," Francois explained. "He and his mother took refuge with Madame Roland for a while then. They were almost beggars at that time."

* * *

On reaching Paris, they parted ways at the city gates. D'Eon immediately went to seek out Sir Rochefort at his townhouse. It was empty. A neighbour informed him that Sir Rochefort and his newly adopted son had gone to the countryside to attend a funeral. "I believe he mentioned it was the funeral of some old neighbour of his, a Madame de Beaumont," the seamstress said thoughtfully. At that, D'Eon hired a horse and galloped home as fast as he could.

He found the house in mourning. Natalia was not dressed in mourning. Instead, she wore a pair of old breeches, shirt and a grey vest. Her hair was tied back with black ribbon. Jean Pierre and Amelia were tearful and sombre in their black clothes. He had come upon them as they were leaving the house for the funeral. His mother had died peacefully in her sleep two days before he reached Paris. Sir Rochefort and Etienne were waiting at the graveyard. D'Eon was pleased to see that Etienne had apparently recovered well. The boy was taller and his cheeks fuller. He had lost that half-starved look he wore when he left Paris. He also walked more confidently. He would have to wait till after the funeral to speak with Sir Rochefort regarding his fears on Lady Sophie.

"The little one is handling this well," Sir Rochefort whispered to D'Eon as the priest droned on. After the funeral, Etienne and Natalia spoke for bit, allowing their guardians a chance to exchange a few words.

"I would advise you against seeing Lady Sophie," Sir Rochefort whispered. Lady Sophie had indeed been implicated in the failed coup. They had been betrayed by Captain de Janiere. The king had sentenced his aunt to remain in her manor under strict guard. She might even be sent to the Bastille. D'Eon wondered if he could arrange an unfortunate encounter with the traitor in some dark alley but quickly shelved the notion as being undeserving of further thought.

Perhaps he could secretly visit Lady Sophie at her manor. "You could join my niece Emilia when she goes to clean for the princess," Sir Rochefort suggested. "However…" D'Eon nodded. He would need to go in disguise. "Could we go too?" Natalia asked. D'Eon shook his head. He would go alone.

D'Eon needed to see to his family matters first. They would need to settle all outstanding debts. The house was too large and empty for two. D'Eon would need to find employment now that his mother's stipend was gone. He would arrange for their old butler and nurse to retire with a generous pension. Poor Jean Pierre should go stay with his son's family given his age. Amelia had a niece in Lourdes who was eager for her to move in with her. The house would be sold off and he could rent apartments in Paris where there was a higher chance of a former knight finding employment.

Sir Rochefort offered his old townhouse in Paris to the de Beaumonts for a token rent. The old knight had decided to move back to his manor in the suburbs for the fresher air. He promised to keep an ear out in the court for any news regarding Lady Sophie. In exchange, Natalia promised to drop by and practise fencing with Etienne at the Rocheforts'. "Nat will fence with Etienne, even though Etienne's not as challenging as Max…" Natalia shrugged.

**Author's Notes:**

Well, at least Robin bothered to get the doctor when D'Eon took ill. Then he took off. The Comte seems to be as popular as his dad was with the commoners, but does he really understand them? Poor D'Eon just lost his mom and is nearly broke. He better start writing up his job applications.

Etienne still thinks of Natalia as Nat the page boy. Should she appear before him in a dress soon?


	22. Leaving France

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

It is very difficult for D'Eon or Robin to reach a permanent truce, as they are both on opposite sides and they believe in their own ideals.

**Chapter 22 – Leaving France**

It was fortunate that Emilia was a tall, blond and homely woman who made little conversation. The guards have long gotten used to her comings and goings and that Tuesday was no different. To D'Eon's relief, they did not bother to give the maid a second glance once they have waved her inside Lady Sophie's garden. He had been afraid that the large bonnet was not enough to hide his identity. Emilia had been given the day off. There was no need to involve her in this.

Once inside the manor, he set about carrying out Emilia's duties of cleaning and dusting. There was no telling if they were being spied on. Coming across the portrait of his sister with Durand and Maximilien, he paused. _They looked so carefree back then._ Then he saw it, a small slit in the canvas near the edge. Gingerly, he eased a fingertip in and felt paper. Carefully, he teased it out.

"Oh Yvette, if only you told us…" The message was simple and in Yvette's childish hand. _Beware Captain de Janiere. Trust him not. _D'Eon slipped the note into his apron pocket. Lady Sophie was not on the ground floor. Dusting the banister, he made his way steadily upstairs. Lady Sophie was sitting in her armchair by the fireplace. She looked far older than D'Eon recalled. Her hair had gone wispy white and her wrinkles deeper.

"D'Eon, you should not be here," she whispered without looking up from her book when he started cleaning the china figurines on the mantelpiece beside her, "I had to find out if you are well…" D'Eon whispered.

"I am as well as I can be, chevalier. Auguste thinks I am a weak-minded old woman. Perhaps he is right. I am too old to play those games. Perhaps I should consider entering a convent …"

"I will pity the sisters if that were so. The Lioness of Versailles does not do well in a cage…" The notion of Lady Sophie piously reciting the rosary behind convent walls was too farfetched.

"You have caught that bad habit from Yvette, I see. Watch your tongue," Lady Sophie looked at him. There was a weary smile on her lips. "You have the little one to think of. Michel was suggesting that you emigrate. Join an envoy to the Indies or England. You are not exactly well-liked at court." Lady Sophie was right, away from France and his disgrace, Natalia would have a chance at a normal childhood.

"I will give that thought," he promised. "Emilia, I would like omelette, haddock and onion soup," Lady Sophie said out loud. "Very well, ma'am," D'Eon bowed and left for the kitchen. He had picked up some basic cooking from his time with Lady Sophie and Yvette.

* * *

"Well, I have some news for you. The ambassador to England will be Comte de Guercy," Rochefort pointed out. D'Eon almost choked on his wine. "I thought he got dismissed after that scandal!"

"King Louis XVI had him re-instated. Well, the young King George IV is not raising any protests so far and neither is Westminster. I understand you have some bad blood…" Michel Rochefort studied the de Beaumonts carefully. Natalia was not too thrilled by the idea of leaving France. Still, there was little future for the pair here. Lady Sophie was likely to die under house-arrest. D'Eon was still in disgrace at court. Natalia's parentage was dubious to say the least.

"Perhaps you should consider leaving for the Indies…" Rochefort suggested.

The Indies were as far as the moon to D'Eon. He had heard fascinating tales of monstrous beasts and strange peoples about the Indies. Those nobles in disgrace were often sent there, same with prisoners and other undesirables. Strange fevers plagued them.

"No, we will go to London. It is closer to France in climate. Somehow, we will manage on our own," D'Eon said. "I can seek work there as a French tutor or a sword fighting teacher…"

"In that case, D'Eon. A toast to your future," Rochefort raised his glass. "You will take care of Etienne, wouldn't you?" D'Eon asked after his student. Rochefort nodded. "That boy's like the son I never had. It is odd to have a little one to look after at my age," Michel Rochefort mused. "Well, you are extremely fit for your age," Natalia sassed. She sat down on the floor at her uncle's feet, watching the grownups solemnly. She was right. Michel Rochefort was of the same school as Teillagory, D'Eon's late teacher.

"Could you put an iris on Anna's grave for me on her anniversary, please?" D'Eon was the least he could do. There would be no one to tend Yvette's grave since she had no family left. Perhaps Max would put flowers on her grave. His attempts at finding work in Paris were unsuccessful. He really could not bring himself to accept any payment from Sir Michel for tutoring Etienne. He and his niece would leave for London on the next ship.

"D'Eon, a word of advice. It is a poor time for sailing. The Channel will be stormy this time of the year. Perhaps you should wait… If you need any help…" the old knight left it hanging. D'Eon had already received much help from him. To D'Eon, it was unthinkable that he should impose any further on Sir Michel. His pride as a nobleman would not permit that. Both men knew that.

_Max, we are going to London. Perhaps Uncle is trying to get a post in the Duchess' household. _Lia wrote the words and waited for a reply. She received none.

* * *

Against all odds, D'Eon managed to secure passage on a baroque heading for York. They would ride down to London by coach from there. "God bless you, D'Eon," Sir Michel bide him and Natalia a fond farewell at the pier. Etienne was absent, recovering from a bad cold.

The first few days of the passage were uneventful. The wind was fickle and there was an occasional fog. D'Eon spoke with the crew and the few brave souls who dared risk the Channel in this season. Then the storms hit with unrelenting fury. Natalia was seasick as was D'Eon. The pair huddled miserably in their cabin as the sailors tried to steer them to safety.

The worst came that night. "We're sinking!" a crewman shouted as he alerted their passengers. "Up on deck!" They were within sight of the faint lights of land. It seemed that an endless expanse of choppy white water separated them from safety. Fighting the gale, D'Eon struggled to the side with his niece under his arm. The ship's launch would be lowered and hopefully rowed to safety. A few of the passengers resignedly returned to their cabins to wait for the inevitable. The sea was too rough for the launch.

"It's worth a try," Natalia wriggled free. The launch hung precariously over the side. Each wave bashed it against the ship's hull. "No!" D'Eon shouted. His niece did a flying leap off the side of the ship, landing in the launch. Encouraged by her success, a few hardy sailors followed suit. The stern of the ship was starting to break apart. Praying hard, D'Eon threw himself into the maelstrom of wind, salt and rain.

The ropes securing the craft snapped suddenly, tipping all the occupants into the sea. D'Eon sank into the freezing water before he struck out for the surface. He kicked off his heavy boots. They were filling with water and would drag him down. He searched frantically for his niece.

"Uncle D'Eon!" Natalia's terrified voice came across the waves. Miraculously, the fragile boat had righted itself and Natalia was standing in it. "Stay down!" D'Eon shouted and struck out for the boat. A wave could easily wash her overboard. Somehow, he managed to haul his tired body into the boat before everything went dark…

* * *

The storm had abated when D'Eon opened his eyes. He was cold and wet. Seawater sloshed in the bottom of their craft. He sat up. Natalia was curled up against him for warmth. She had been wearing only her nightdress when they were roused from their beds. The overcoat he had wrapped around her in their flight was gone. "There are only the two of us…" she murmured. She was blue from the cold.

A thick fog cloaked the sea. The oars had been washed overboard. They were at the mercy of the waves and currents. "Don't worry, Natalia…" D'Eon lied. "They will find us…" Rescue was unlikely. They could wait for the fog to clear… There was no food or drink. They had lost everything apart from the clothes on their backs. Natalia reached down her nightdress and fished out a rosary. D'Eon was surprised to see it was the coral and silver one Lady Sophie had given him. Silently, they prayed for the weather to clear.

After endless hours, the sun finally shone down and the fog lifted. Their battered boat bobbed into a sheltered bay and came aground. D'Eon stretched his cramped, frozen legs and stepped onto the sand. This was a desolate-looking stretch of coast. He could not tell if he were in France, England or somewhere else. They were chilled to the bone in their sodden clothes.

"Mercy me! Willie! Get a doctor and some lads from the farm. Ask Maddy to whip up some stew as well. I think we have some castaways!" a woman's voice shrilled in English. They were in England. D'Eon smiled. His knees buckled and he sank to the sand.

* * *

"William Wordsworth! I don't care a whit if you have been knighted by Her Royal Highness the Queen Mother but if you are going to consort with those wastrels at the club drinking, gambling and…"

"Sis, it is nothing but a poetry and philosophy club for gentlemen."

"Then how come Sir Carrington got shot the last round in a duel? And that scandal with Lord Richard's daughter. Mercy, and I thought we are done with all that when Sir Dashwood croaked. What kind of name is the Hellfire Club, I ask you?"

D'Eon awoke to the sound of a quarrel or banter. A rosy-cheeked Englishwoman bustled in. "Well, well… Welcome back. Natalia, child, your uncle's awake," she called out. Natalia ran in and hugged him. She was looking pale. Her hair had been tied back and she wore a simple peasant dress. He was sitting in a bed in a room that was decorated in a distinctly English pastoral style. They were in some cottage. He could hear cows mooing outside and geese cackling.

"Eat up," the formidable woman demanded as she placed a tray before him. The soup was thick and creamy and the bread still warm from the oven. "I'm Doris Wordsworth. We found you and this little one on the beach. Nasty business, a shipwreck…" Her French was halting with a heavy accent. "I'm her brother. Sir William Wordsworth. Poet and thinker," a dandified man with her introduced himself.

"Who should be helping me manage the farm instead of prancing about with those so-called gentlemen," Doris added in English but there was a slight smile to her lips. Doris was as stout-built as an ox and not blessed with beauty. Her nose was too big, her eyes too small behind her glasses. She was a solid countrywoman. Her brother was good-looking and seemed to be more used to town-living.

"You're from France, aren't you? Heading for London? Willie could take you along when he goes back to writing poems for Her Majesty, good Queen Mary, God bless her soul. Too bad George III was a moron getting involved with you lot," she directed her parting shot at her brother. "You make sure you poets don't lead His Majesty George IV astray…"

"Yes, ma'am," Willie saluted his sister in jest. "Poets?" D'Eon frowned. He hoped Doris was not referring to poets like Lorenza.

"I must rehearse for the play at Squire Tuckerbee's… I'm acting as Romeo," William excused himself. "You should have stuck with the violin," Doris retorted. "It will be more pleasant than hearing you mooning like a lovesick calf. Papa always said I'm all fingers and tin ears on the violin."

"Dover's quite nice, Uncle. Could we stay for a while, please?" Natalia wheedled. "Do you have a violin here? I learnt a bit from my poor mama…" she asked her hostess.

**Author's Notes:**

Some fresh start for D'Eon. Getting washed up literally on some beach. At least he seems to be on friendly shores. Or maybe not.

William Wordsworth's character is inspired by an actual English poet from that era of the Revolution. He was with the Jacobins, then got disillusioned when the revolution disintegrated into the Reign of Terror and returned home. He had a spinster sister who lived with him and his family.


	23. The English Knight

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

The England arc has started.

**Chapter 23 – The English Knight**

Milien kicked his feet as he sat on his chair. It was fortunate that his sister and uncle both survived the sinking of the ship. However, Lia seemed so far away in England. He missed Camile and Francois. Madame Roland was a hard teacher and he had the bruises to prove it. He was learning fast how to use the poems and the psalms. Feeling the call of nature, he made for the outhouse.

Hearing voices on his return, he stopped by the kitchen door. Madame Roland was directing two of her protégés in laying out a coffin in the kitchen. They lifted the lid. Within was a dark-haired young woman he recognized as the one who had committed suicide after Madame Roland insisted she marry someone she did not love.

Chanting, Madame Roland held her hands over the icy corpse. The young woman's eyes opened. "Go, Annette… Kill that English traitor," Madame Roland commanded. Milien drew back. He needed to warn his sister.

* * *

Natalia must have inherited her musical flair from her father. That and her early musical training under her foster mother. Both Lia and D'Eon were hopeless at music. The girl was a wonder on the violin. When she played, all the farm workers within earshot paused in their labours. The knighted poet decided that Natalia must be brought to the English court. Child prodigies didn't pop up on shores all the time. D'Eon wondered if Natalia's twin had inherited the same talent.

"You take care of your little niece, you hear? English aristocrats can't be trusted about pretty little things," Doris warned, her knitting needles kept up a steady clicking as she worked on a stocking.

During the month they spent recovering at the farm, Doris had grown fond of Natalia despite their many run-ins. Doris did not approve of Natalia borrowing the stable-hand's breeches or riding about on the cart horse astride with her skirts hitched up to her waist. Natalia found Doris' attempts to teach her proper feminine manners tiresome. She did not appreciate having a yardstick tied to her back to correct her posture, wearing stays or having to balance a copy of the Bible on her head. "Really, how do you expect to find a husband in that state?" Doris would admonish Natalia.

William's attitude was ambiguous. D'Eon had been guarded about the Wordsworths. Under his friendly smiles, William was distant towards the newcomers. Doris reminded D'Eon a bit of Lia. She had few qualms bullying her younger brother to get her way, much like how Lia used to drag young D'Eon to Master Teillagory's. However, while Lia was a noblewoman, Doris was of honest country stock and proud of it. "My yeomen ancestors fought under the banner of Henry VII and we had a proud military tradition… till Willie came along," she said as she looked at her brother. "We till the fields and rear cattle in peacetime. It's a much better life than in that god-awful city..."

"Well, it wasn't my idea to take you on as my secretary but my sister absolutely refuses to let a little girl appear before the Duchess alone…" William said pointedly as he got in the coach. D'Eon nodded. They expected to reach London in time for Easter. "Basically she wants you to keep me from ending up robbed or murdered when I am drunk. Besides, it's the only place you could get a job," The knight settled in for a long ride. Sir William did not carry any sword or firearm on his person. Instead, he kept a quill in his hat, an inkpot in his pocket and a small book in his vest.

The Duchess, former Queen Mary, lived in the city in Buckingham with her son who now was king. William was right. As a musician, Natalia could go far. And only the nobles would hire tutors for their sons. Country folk did their studies under the watchful eye of the local pastor. The Wordworths were fortunate in having a French-born nurse who taught them the language of her motherland. Doris coached Natalia in English while D'Eon brushed his linguistic skills. He had learnt a bit of the language in France but it was different now. All the servants and farmhands spoke only English and with heavy local accent.

Sir William's London residence was in a respectable and very English neighbourhood, away from the bustle of the Thames. The valet who waited on Sir William spoke no French. D'Eon decided against telling his new employer about his past meeting with Queen Mary. William was an amiable chap when sober. They hung out at a gentlemen's club called The Lodge, also nicknamed the Hellfire Club by Doris, on some evenings. It was similar to the coffeehouses of Paris but the clientele was high society. Those evenings often ended with D'Eon dragging a drunken William in through the front door.

On the nights he was sober, Sir William would be cloistered in his vast library, translating papers for the court. D'Eon helped with some translations in Latin and French. Natalia volunteered to help with Russian. There was some difficulty that William refused to discuss.

* * *

It took a week before William managed to secure an appointment for Natalia before the Duchess. He even had a dressmaker come to make Natalia a proper dress. It would never do to have her appear wearing the country clothes Doris had kitted her with. D'Eon grinned as he listened to Natalia fussing with the dressmaker over her dress. Natalia like to wear her collars high, but that was not the fashion. She was sensitive to the scar on her neck. Since they came to England, she had worn a ribbon about her neck to hide it.

D'Eon had been given some of William's old clothes and had some newer ones made for him in London. Now he looked every bit an Englishman, as long as he kept his mouth shut. Doris had trimmed his hair so now it was only shoulder-length. William's hair had been trimmed in a similar manner.

"Come on, don't be shy…" the dressmaker coaxed Natalia out of her room. D'Eon gasped. The dress Natalia wore was bright red and of a cut similar to that favoured by her mother. With her hair curled by the dressmaker, she looked like a miniature version of Lia. The only difference was that she sported a black ribbon and silver cross choker round her throat. The expression on her uncle's face did not escape her notice.

"I think I still prefer green…" Natalia turned to the dressmaker. "But green is an unlucky colour! The fairies…" the dressmaker stammered. She was a superstitious woman. "Stuff and nonsense! If she likes green, we'll get green cloth, right? She can have a dozen green gowns. Hang the price!" William slapped D'Eon on the back. He had been drinking although the sun was still high in the sky.

"Sir William, there is a French lady here to see you," the valet said when he walked in. He was accompanied by a dark-haired woman of exceptional beauty. She was dressed in a dark green dress of modest design. William dropped the glass of brandy he was holding. "Annette? Oh sweet Lord, you came!" he ran towards her and enveloped her in a hug. "I thought that woman would never let you go!" the English knight

"She's dead…" Natalia said quietly. "Annette hung herself in her room. Max watched them cut her down…" Natalia had been communicating with her brother whenever they were able to slip their respective guardian's notice. "Madame Roland sent you, didn't she? To seek out the poet who has turned his back on the Revolutionary Brethren…"

"Everyone, stand back!" D'Eon warned. The valet and dressmaker backed away. The change in Annette was immediate. Her face lost its healthy glow and turned a leprous green. Stunned, William continued holding her by the shoulders. The poor woman moaned. She lifted her hand, which held a dagger and brought it down on her one-time lover. D'Eon lunged forward, pulling William out of harm's way.

"Kill me… please…" the poor creature begged. Her features contorted, becoming a fanged monstrosity. The dressmaker screamed and fainted. The valet sank to his knees in shock. What remained of Annette was no longer human in appearance.

"Annette!" William bleated. The creature raised her dagger and plunged it into the person nearest to her, the hapless valet. The man shrieked and fell back choking on his blood, throat slit from ear to ear. Calmly, Natalia raised her hands.

"_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust… From the clay we were raised, to clay we return… Merciful Lord, please take this unfortunate soul into Your light… In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost, I beseech Thee…" _

The creature advanced towards the girl. _"Forgive her sins as the blood of the Lamb redeems our souls…" _D'Eon held William back. Natalia was using the poems again. He could see the psalms crisscrossing her arms in golden ribbons of light. It was not working. She turned to the men. "Her soul is still trapped within that clay. I can't set her to rest alone!"

"Sir William! Speak to her. Call out to Annette, the one you knew and loved!" D'Eon shouted. William stammered with shock. He could not speak.

The creature let loose a horrific shriek that shattered all the windows and glassware in the room. Natalia clapped her hands over ears and ducked to the floor. There was flash of silver that struck the creature in the back. It was a silver knitting needle.

"That's why I loathe cities…" a familiar voice sniffed. "Must you drink yourself into such a stupor when I'm not watching you that you cannot sense danger?"

**Author's Notes: **

In old British superstition, green is believed to be the colour of the fairies and witchcraft and wearing green is to invite misfortune.

Even in England, they are not safe from the poets.


	24. Poets of Albion

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 24 – Poets of Albion **

"Sister!" William shouted. A heavily-shawled Doris stepped through the door. The creature roared and charged. Its skin had burst into a profusion of boils. The stout Englishwoman did not waver. She seized her plain wooden cross from where it hung on a piece of twine round her neck. She thrust it into the creature's face. "Natalia, continue. Don't you dare run now, Willie! For your own sake and hers!" The cross glowed and apparently froze the creature in its tracks.

"_Merciful Lord, please take this unfortunate soul into your light… In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost, I beseech Thee…" _Natalia continued chanting her poems. _"In the blood of the Redeemer, our Lord…" _

"Was she a suicide, child?" Doris asked. Natalia nodded grimly. The psalms formed glowing circles around the creature, binding her. D'Eon watched and held William. "D'Eon, release him! He must do what must be done," Doris instructed. D'Eon released William. Staggering, the English knight approached the now-restrained creature. "Annette…" Working fast, Doris etched a crude circle into the oaken floor with her remaining knitting needle, an additional protection.

"Annette, why? I would have gone back for you…" William said. "And she would have killed you… like she almost did were it not for your sister… Madame is too strong…" the creature whimpered. For a moment, she looked almost human. "Willie, please… end it for me." Natalia's chanting grew in intensity. D'Eon could feel the walls of the room pulsing with energy. Doris bent over the slain valet warily, checking for any signs of life. There was none. She closed his eyes and draped a tablecloth over him.

"See to her," Doris indicated the still unconscious dressmaker. D'Eon nodded and lifted the skinny woman into his arms, carrying her into the parlour where she might recover. In the parlour, the atmosphere was less oppressive. He felt he could breathe again. D'Eon wished he could linger a while but Natalia was still in there, using the poems to fight some monstrosity conjured up by some twisted poet.

When D'Eon returned to the hall, William had reluctantly drawn his sword and run Annette through. "Merci, Willie…" the creature smiled. The twisted features resumed the likeness of a woman as Annette collapsed into her lover's arms. Weeping, William pulled out the blade and cradled the corpse in his arms. The poor girl looked so peaceful. Gently, he laid her on the floor and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Picking up the sword, the English poet cast it aside in disgust.

"William Wordsworth! You did what was best," Doris snapped. "You're a knight. You can't toss away your sword like that!"

"I am a knight of the pen and book. I forgot that. The sword means nothing to me. In the end, I cannot use it to save Annette," William replied. "You did free her soul," D'Eon added. Natalia nodded. The child was exhausted. She had not drawn on D'Eon's strength this time. The effort exhausted her. "Thank you, Natalia," William bowed before the girl. He walked over to Doris. With a weary sigh, Doris enveloped her brother in a reassuring embrace.

* * *

The poor valet and Annette were laid to rest in the local graveyard. The dressmaker's wits had gone when she finally emerged from her swoon and there was little they could do for her but send her back to her family in the country with some gold for a doctor in the hope that she would recover. Doris immediately stepped in as housekeeper to her brother, leaving the farm to be run by a trusted cousin. They would soon work out a arrangement that allowed the Wordsworths to spend their time between London and Dover.

The day finally came for Natalia to meet the Duchess. D'Eon saw the recognition in the Duchess' eyes as he stepped in with Natalia and Sir William. The English knight introduced the de Beaumonts to the former queen and her entourage. The Duke was not present but her son was. Demurely, Natalia lifted the bow to her violin strings and began to play. Her music immediately enchanted the entire room. Natalia was given a post as a musician with the Duchess as her patron. Her uncle was offered a post as French tutor to the royal children, the younger brother and sisters of King George IV. The former Queen had two other daughters and a son after bearing the present king. Thus the de Beaumonts' livelihood was secured.

"Now that is taken care of, Natalia should learn more of the poems from Willie," Doris said when she greeted the jubilant trio on their return. "No!" D'Eon replied with unexpected vehemence. The psalms were what got Lia into trouble and cost her life. "Think about it, Sir D'Eon. Her fate is tied to the psalms. Perhaps it will be best if…" William placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. D'Eon shrugged it off and took his niece by the hand, ushering her into their apartments within William's townhouse.

"Lia?" His sister was standing by the window. Dressed in her favourite red gown, Lia smiled. "Why are you against the English knight teaching Natalia? Lorenza and Madame Roland have been teaching Maximilien of the poems. You can't use any poems and I can't watch her forever…" she walked over to him.

"But if it weren't for the psalms, you will be still alive," D'Eon said. "Likewise Master Teillagory and Durand…"

Lia rolled her eyes upwards. "D'Eon, William is an ally you can use. He owes Natalia a debt of gratitude and he is a gentleman who will guide Natalia well. Things will happen in the future that you cannot prevent. Events that may require Natalia to use poems to protect herself… Think about it, D'Eon…" she turned as if to leave him.

"Lia, wait please," D'Eon called out after his sister. He had to know. "How is Anna? And Yvette? Is she in the light?" Annette's fate still lingered in the back of his mind. Lia closed her eyes.

"Anna is with her mother. You should have sent word to Sir Michel sooner that you are well. He was so worried after receiving news your ship sank. He thought you and Natalia are lost at sea. As for Yvette, Durand is with her. She went into the light as he did. Tell Sir William, his beloved Annette would wait for him in the light until it is his time…" Lia's voice faded away as her outline became less distinct as if she were a thing of the morning mist.

"Wait!" D'Eon called out and reached for her. He fell onto the floor of his bedroom. It was night. He had been dreaming but it was so real.

"Natalia?" His niece was still awake. He could hear her practising her violin in her room. "May I come in please?" he rapped on her door. The music stopped. Natalia opened the door. She was wearing a nightgown and had her hair free over her shoulders. "We need to talk, about what Miss Wordsworth said."

"I will learn how to use the poems like Max does from Madame Roland," Natalia said matter-of-factly. "Miss Doris will teach me a bit too."

* * *

Many months have passed since Natalia left France. Milien brushed his hair before his mirror. He was ready to join the household of the new Duke of Orleans as a page. "I am glad you are doing well too, Lia," Milien smiled at the mirror. "Sir William and Doris are teaching me to use the poems," Natalia said. She was dressed in a green gown in preparation for another recital at the palace. "Uncle still fences with me. The royal princes aren't keen on fencing. Does this ribbon go with my dress?" Natalia patted her braided hair.

"They look lovely, Lia."

"Uncle does not really like it when Sir William teaches me to use the poems. He made me promise to use them only for good, not to harm others. Doris teaches me how to scry… She's a bit of a country witch… Max, I saw things, scary things the Psalms told us of. Be careful, Max…" Natalia straightened her ribbons. She had seen blood in the bowl of water they had used for scrying last night. Doris had wanted her to see if the harvest on the farm would be good. The signs threatened a poor one to Doris' chagrin. Then Natalia tried to see beyond England's shores into the future of France.

"I must go," Milien smiled as he put on his hat. His image faded from the mirror and left his sister staring at her own reflection.

* * *

As usual, her recital was a success. The guests at the Duchess' garden party enjoyed it immensely. D'Eon was looking at her with pride from a pavilion. He had settled well into his role as a royal tutor. "Natalia," the Duchess beckoned her over. Natalia walked over and dropped a curtsy. "You look just like your mother," the smiling duchess reached out to tuck a stray strand of golden hair behind Natalia's ear. It was true. Natalia held herself with a poise and confidence that matched Lia's at her age. She drifted through the guests, making small talk where needed but always listening and watching. Now she took a seat beside the duchess and the young king. George IV was only a few years older than Natalia and still enough of a child to resent his mother's obvious affection for Natalia.

George IV kept shooting glares at Natalia as his mother discussed the latest fashion with her. Natalia pointed out a young lady who was casting glances at a certain young baron. An engagement should be arranged for the pair soon. She made an excuse to drift over to the shy Lady Hermione for a chat. Her English had improved tremendously during their time with the Wordworths. Still, she retained a quaint French accent that many found charming. D'Eon watched in amusement as his ten-year-old niece casually steered the shy debutante to the young baron's side. The pair soon struck up a conversation.

"She knows His Majesty dislikes you both," William whispered as he joined D'Eon. He offered the Frenchman a glass of wine. "You should not have told her about him cheating at that French grammar test. At least the other children like you."

"He is not interested in learning French and I understand from his German tutor that his German is equally bad. He has little interest in his studies, unlike his brother and sisters. Basically, he is a spoilt child and I fear he may make bad decisions for his country in the future," D'Eon sipped at his wine. William laughed. "I guess the Liberty Lodge has its work cut out. We will have to help him along. Here's someone I would like you to meet. Benjamin Franklin, from Boston…" the English knight waved to a plump, owlish man in oddly rustic and out-dated clothes.

"The colonists have had enough of the increasing taxes… I fear rebellion if they continue to ignore the people…" Franklin fidgeted with his cravat. It had not gone well. He had been denied an audience with the young king and the former king George III was not interested in meeting some obscure merchant from the colonies. William shot him a meaningful look. "Have some crumpets, Benjamin. We will talk at the lodge. I have a fine vintage from France… Want to hear my new poem? Ahem, _an ode to a cracked pot_…" They would continue their conversation later in the safety of their club.

* * *

Paris. Milien paused at Master Robespierre's door. He gently pushed the door open. Lorenza was attending to Robespierre, drawing out the poison from his body using the psalms. The leg wound he had received from those gargoyles that attacked them at Notre Dame had festered quietly, accumulating enough poison within the redhead's body before bursting into a fever a few weeks ago on the journey from Italy. No medicine could ease the fits of pain that came, save the psalms. Still, Lorenza's powers were limited. Cagliostro fretted nearby with towels, a basin of water and a flask of brandy which he was constantly sipping from.

"Allow me, please…" Milien begged. They had been trying to hide Master Robespierre's condition from him since they came to this apartment owned by the Duke. But he was not a helpless boy anymore. He wanted to help his mentor so badly.

"No, you m-must go to the Duke…" Robespierre sat up. His face was ashen. Beads of sweat clung to his brow. "GO!" he shouted before another wave of agony washed over him. Milien ignored him, walking resolutely up to him and pushing Lorenza aside. The blond boy placed his small hands on his guardian's hand. "Please, let me take some of the pain…" he muttered. Robespierre's breathing began to ease as the pain lifted.

"I'll be back if you need me," Milien smiled bravely and strode out. The Duke would be waiting. He could feel the pain settling in his chest, a nagging sensation. He had only been able to bear so much. The adults watched as he left. "That brat has learnt a lot from Madame Roland," Lorenza said. "I swear he has been contacting his sister…"

"That boy would do almost anything for you, Robespierre," Cagliostro observed. "Except turn against his sister…" Lorenza corrected.

**Author's Notes: **

Benjamin Franklin (historical) – one of the founding fathers of the United States. He is also an inventor, philosopher and a Freemason. He gets a cameo here.

D'Eon is living as a royal tutor and a gentleman, Natalia a royal violinist. Doris and William Wordsworth seem to be their allies for now. Milien is joining the Duke of Orlean's household as a page and Robin seemed to have some after-effects from his injuries in Notre Dame. Will D'Eon join William's gentlemen's club, the Liberty Lodge?


	25. The Lodge and Bordello

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 25 – The Lodge and Bordello**

The gentlemen's club Sir William frequented was patronized by many high society gentlemen, including a few poets from Dashwood's coven, Sir William was one of them. "Not all crossed the oceans to the new world. Some of us have other commitments. As for Lord Weatherby there, his mind isn't exactly all shipshape…" Sir William grinned as he hung up his coat and hat. "Send my regards to your lady wife," he greeted the drooling old man D'Eon guessed was the senile Lord Weatherby. "I was a mere lad of sixteen then, too young to cross to the ocean. My sister would never allow it. So I swore my allegiance to preserving and guiding our Old World monarchies," the poet settled down in a chair opposite Benjamin Franklin. The man had been waiting all this time.

"I have spoken to the others… but the taxes are killing us colonists. Jefferson, Adams… all the Sons of Liberty, they have tried. Trouble is in the air, William," Franklin fretted. "I do not wish for bloodshed."

"Unfortunately, that is sometimes unavoidable…" William's tone was sombre. He gave a sideways glance to D'Eon. "You, or your sister, told us poets to carry the message of the psalms into the new world on Sir Francis' death. Those who made the journey have taken the message to heart."

"We only wish for a place where all men are equal. A place without kings or nobles or such…" Franklin poured himself a cup of tea and bit into the pigeon pie in his hand. "The king is far over the ocean but we still feel the weight of his taxes… My, this is tasty pigeon pie…"

"Courtesy of our lodge's cook, or rather his wife," William replied. "A society without divisions of class, free of persecution… where all members are equal. That is a vision that may be tough to fulfil. I would settle for just doing away with the nobility like some of our French brothers suggested." Sir William drew his finger across his throat with emphasis. Franklin coughed vigorously as he choked on his pie. William winked and laughed, slapping the colonist on the back. D'Eon hoped he was just jesting. "Tea?" he asked.

"Drinking tea weakens the bladder and the spirit. Give me red wine!" Sir William hailed an attendant. He took both D'Eon's and Franklin's teacups and dumped the contents out the window. He followed this up with the contents of the entire teapot, trying to toss the teapot out as well. "That was from a gift from Mrs Jefferson to the lodge, all the way from Boston!" Franklin exclaimed as he saved the teapot. William laughed. "Tell you what, you chaps will get a shipload of fine English tea soon. Brew them in the whole of your harbour!"

"With the taxes. As if the stamp tax hasn't caused enough trouble," Franklin added. "I want coffee please!" he called out after the attendant.

* * *

"We really should be going home…" D'Eon did not like the fact that the English knight was starting to sway as he walked.

"Come on, Doris will keep us some bubble n' squeak. I know a place you will enjoy… I know I do- Madame Esmeralda's." Sir William grinned as he led D'Eon to the bordello.

"Good evening, Monsieur. Looking for some fun? What's your pleasure?" a scantily-clad woman greeted them at the door. Her bodice barely shielded her breasts. "Madame, please attend to my friend here. I'm paying," Sir William winked mischievously as he took a pretty redhead wench with a pert mouth nearby by the arm. The first woman nodded and almost thrust her bosom into the Frenchman's face.

"Willie, I can't possibly…" D'Eon cried out as he tried to keep from being smothered by the lady's ample bosom. She was most enthusiastic in her welcome. It was rare that her customers were as handsome as this one. The English knight was busy fondling the redhead's ample bottom. "Don't worry, D'Eon, Estelle is a professional. Unless of course you prefer boys… in which case she could refer you to…"

"I do not like boys that way!" D'Eon protested as Estelle almost dragged him towards a room off the hallway. Chuckling, William led his girl into another room. Both knights failed to notice a small figure relieving their coats of their purses as they left the hallway. This presence was unremarkable and almost a fixture of the building to the regulars. However, as the thief left the building through the door, D'Eon looked up and wondered why a boy that age would be in a bordello.

In the alleyway behind the bordello, the thief checked his loot. He grinned impishly at the thought of the look on the faces of the men he had just robbed. He slipped it into his vest. The gold would help pay for his mother's medicine. His stomach growled. He could use some food. Perhaps he could steal a chicken or some bread from the bordello kitchen…

* * *

D'Eon stretched and dressed. It was physically satisfying but emotionally hollow. The musky scent of sex and cheap perfume sickened him. He thought he should give Estelle a tip, but the girl had already left the room to seek out her payment from Sir William. He could barely recall her face. He only knew it was heavily made-up. He reached for his coat and was surprised to find it lighter than he expected. He had several gold guineas from his salary received that morning. His purse was gone.

There was a commotion outside. D'Eon emerged from his room and was immediately set upon by the bordello's bully-boys. "Madame, I swear. I am not out to cheat you. We were pickpocketed!" William was panicked. Madame Esmeralda glowered, bulldog-faced and stout as an ox. "You gentlemen had your fun, so pay up!" she sneered. "You could work it off…" she looked thoughtfully at D'Eon. "You could wear a dress and help my girls entertain some of our more demanding guests…" D'Eon felt his stomach turn as the Amazon caressed his cheek.

"Don't worry, D'Eon. I will help you with those customers," William whispered. The bordello owner coughed. "As for you, Willie, I shall have you strangled and your corpse sold to that medical college down the road," she added.

"Madame, please! Allow me to send a message to my sister for the money," William begged. The woman considered for a moment before calling out. "Robbie! Cocky Robin Redbreast! Get your sorry ass here, you worthless rat!"

"Coming, Madame!" a black-haired boy of ten trotted into the hall from outside. D'Eon frowned. It was the same boy who was with them in the hall earlier. The lad was wearing a red vest that was originally a soldier's coat, cut down to size. His clothes were patched and grimy. The grey eyes that stared out from his pinched face were slightly mocking. He wore an impish grin on his lips. More importantly, there was a suspicious bulge in his vest and the barely audible jingle of coins when he walked.

"Please, Robbie. Send a message to my sister at this address…" William handed him his card. "Sorry, sir. Can't read," Robbie replied. William read out the address for the boy's benefit. "Please ask her to send you back with the money." William did not relish his sister coming to bail him out. She would frown on him introducing D'Eon to the seedier side of London life. At least it would be better than being pickled in vinegar for the benefit of the medical students down the road.

The lad saluted smartly and turned to leave. "Hold a moment," D'Eon called out and grabbed the boy's vest. There was a tearing sound and both William's and D'Eon's purses fell out of the boy's torn vest. "You little thief…" D'Eon hissed. The boy wriggled free of his vest and fled.

"Catch that wretch and string him up!" the Madame barked. The bully boys took off in hot pursuit but the lad was swifter. Robbie shinnied up a tree and leapt onto a nearby roof. He was off in a flash, as agile as a cat.

"I am so sorry, Sir William. His mother used to work here before she took ill… We will turn him over to the authorities to be punished. Can't have him stealing from our customers," Madame Esmeralda grovelled as William paid her from his purse. "Give this to Estelle…" D'Eon handed her an additional gold coin. "Sure," she pocketed the coin. D'Eon realised belatedly that it was unlikely Estelle would see it.

* * *

"You got into trouble at a bordello and needed me to help bail you out," William's sister greeted them in the hallway. Doris and Natalia were waiting for them on their return. Natalia rubbed sleep from her eyes as she lifted her head from Doris' lap. "How did you know?" William asked. "A boy told me. Did he pay the Madame her fee? I handed him twenty pounds and a mince pie. Poor kid looks starved…"

"You paid him off? You've been had!" Sir William declared. "That lad is a scoundrel!"

"A polite little scoundrel. He should be a gentleman," Doris replied tartly. "Are you thinking of corrupting our French guests, Willie? You owe me thirty pounds. Ten as a fine for making us wait up. I can't understand you…" she paused for Natalia climbed up the stairs to her room before continuing. "First, you had that little affair with our music tutor… you insulted both your fiancée and her family at the first meeting… When you finally met a girl you liked, you bolted like a scared bunny. Now you seem to have a perchance for women of loose morals!"

"Come on, a man needs to have a woman somewhere. At least my fiancée did not flee for the East Indies unlike your fiancé did when he first saw you…" William added under his breath. Thankfully, Doris did not choose to pursue the matter. She had turned her attention to D'Eon.

"I thought, being the older one, you would have more sense than to let my brother take you to those dens of iniquity he is unfortunately so fond of. I suppose we should be thankful he didn't take you to the other place…" Doris shrugged.

"Have you found someone you like, uncle? The same way you liked Anna and Yvette?" Natalia was waiting at the top of the flight of stairs for him. She had not gone to her room as he expected her to. "No, not really…" D'Eon admitted. He hardly knew Estelle, apart from the clumsy groping and fumbling under the sheets. "I think they liked your gold more. You will still go out with Sir William, wouldn't you?" she asked. D'Eon nodded resignedly. "Someone needs to keep him out of trouble…"

"Try not to let him get you into it," Natalia added. Sir William was way too fond of the ladies of the night and dice.

* * *

"What do you make of that, Max?" Natalia asked a few days later as she gazed into her mirror, having related the incident of that night to her brother. Her brother chuckled. "Uncle needed that. Yvette would probably be laughing at him, in heaven."

"I think Lady Anna would be horrified," Natalia sniffed. She tied a final ribbon into her hair. "That boy who came to our door… think I will see him again?" The boy's clear grey eyes intrigued her the moment she saw them. He looked more like an animal than a human. Natalia was the one who answered the door that night. He reminded her of some stray cat. Milien shrugged.

"Perhaps. I'm working for the Duke of Orleans now as a scribe. He seems to have an interest in Uncle. He's been speaking with Sir Michel. With luck, he would let uncle have a job in his household. Lia, you can come back to France then," Max tied his cravat. "Till then, au revoir."

"Till we meet again… Is my ribbon straight?" Natalia had braided her hair with blue ribbons to go with her blue dress.

"Not really, but you look lovely anyway," Max smiled. However, the duke's apparent interest in D'Eon did not last and there were few letters from France apart from those from Sir Michel. They learnt that Lady Sophie had died quietly in her chateau, attended to by the court physician and her maidservant. She was given a modest funeral and buried in the royal crypt. D'Eon was struck by an odd sense of loss. He ended up accompanying Sir William to Madame Esmeralda's and getting into a drunken brawl with another gentleman. D'Eon wound up injuring the man in a duel by sword the next day, escaping with a scratch on his arm.

D'Eon still fenced with Natalia but Doris insisted that they focused more on educating her in the proper manners of a lady and her music. Natalia continued her education under Sir William. It seemed that tutoring the girl had an unexpected effect on Sir William. Doris noticed he ventured to Madame Esmeralda's and the gambling salons less frequently as he was absorbed in teaching Natalia German or English. For his part, D'Eon worked hard for his keep as tutor to the young king and his royal siblings.

Their paths were to cross with that of a young thief with unexpected consequences.

**Author's Notes:**

The Madame is scary, threatening to sell Sir William's corpse for dissection. The 18th century Europeans have a horror of being anatomized. Many believed that if your corpse was not properly buried, you could not enter Heaven. The Church frowned on autopsies for many centuries, When the medical doctors were allowed to dissect bodies they were in short supply as only the corpses of condemned criminals could be used. Since the 17th century, some people turned the demand for fresh cadavers into an industry by robbing graves of freshly buried bodies for sale to the medical colleges. In some instances, people were murdered for the sale of their corpses. This macabre grave robbing persisted well into the Victorian era before donation of one's corpse for medical science stopped being such a taboo.

I've done it. I've gotten D'Eon into a brothel. Natalia and Milien are more aware than D'Eon thinks. Doris and Sir William seem to be allies to the de Beaumonts for now. Natalia should have another chance to use her poems. Do you think we need to go back to France for more focus on Robespierre/ Robin?

The War of Independence is set to explode in the colonies. Ben Franklin and the Sons of Liberty have reached their breaking point. Boston Tea Party protest starting soon. Don't think we will be seeing Franklin anymore. Neither will Lady Sophie be appearing anymore.


	26. Shadow of the Gallows

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 26 - Shadow of the Gallows **

It was a day like any other when D'Eon and Natalia went to the haberdasher's. D'Eon purchased a pair of gloves for himself and a feathered hat for Natalia. On the way back, he was surprised to come upon a curious spectacle. He recognised several of Madame Esmeralda's bully boys gathered around the gallows. To D'Eon's alarm, there was a gaggle of wailing and shrieking youngsters at the foot of the wooden gibbet being held off by the youths. On the gallows was a bruised and bleeding boy he recognized as the thief who had robbed him some time ago. A crude noose had been fashioned from a rope and looped about his neck. His hands were bound securely behind his back. Madame Esmeralda's bully boys had finally captured their thief and were ready to lynch him.

Natalia stopped in mid-step and approached the gallows. "Natalia, we shouldn't…" D'Eon grabbed her by the arm. He did not want to get into a fight, especially since he had left his sword at home. His eyes met those of the condemned boy. There was fear in them, but it was overlaid with a wearied and angry defiance.

"Shall we do something, Uncle?" Natalia asked in a whisper. They watched as a man raised a cudgel and swung it at the children. It hit one, who let loose a howl of pain as she clutched her arm. The onlookers only watched. This was a rough part of town and the Madame's lackeys had a violent reputation.

"Perhaps, but what can be done?" D'Eon replied. He wished he had brought his sword with him. There were five strapping youths who were armed with cudgels and he was only one. Being a gentleman, the sympathies of the crowd were not with him. There was no one he could rely on, except Natalia.

"Stop beating them, you ape!" the boy yelled, only to be silenced with a punch to the gut. Undeterred, he spat at his tormentor. "Good sir, please. Care for my little sisters! Please, I beg you!" the condemned boy cried out when he caught D'Eon's eye again. The wails of his sisters rose in volume. D'Eon thought the oldest girl was no more than eight. There were seven of them at least, including the infant being carried by the oldest. They were all pathetically thin and clad in rags. "Please, sir! And please bury my poor mother! Oh, don't leave her for the dogs!" The lad would have said more if the leader of the bully boys had not tired of his words and signalled for him to be hung.

The rope was yanked and the noose closed around the hapless prisoner's throat. Choking and gasping, he was lifted upwards slowly. D'Eon glanced away. Failing to find any mercy from the louts, the children set their pleas towards D'Eon. "Please, sir. Save our brother…" the eldest sobbed. Her eyes were red from weeping. "He only stole to keep us from stravin'." Grimy hands clutched at his coat. He looked helplessly at the gallows.

Natalia walked confidently up to the gallows and placed a hand on the wooden structure. The boy thrashed and kicked, his bare toes scrapping the wood. D'Eon saw them then. The power of the poem snaked out from Natalia's hand into the wood and up the gallows. There was a loud snap and the rope broke. The boy fell onto the platform and sucked in a raw gasp of air.

"Get another rope and hang the little rat!" the ringleader shouted. "No," D'Eon said. "You will not hang anyone…" D'Eon had enough. He climbed onto the gallows and roughly yanked the boy to his feet. He removed the broken rope from around the boy's neck. The boy's neck was bleeding where the rope had cut into it. "Mind your own business, you fop!" A man threw a punch at D'Eon. D'Eon dodged and caught him by the wrist.

"Leave us in peace," D'Eon hissed a warning. He bent down and tugged at the knot binding the lad's wrists. "Watch out!" Natalia shouted a warning. It was too late. D'Eon looked up to see a cudgel being swung at his head. His attacker let out a sudden gasp as the lad head-butted him in the gut, twisted and sank his teeth into the attacker's wrist, forcing him to drop the cudgel. D'Eon flung himself at his now unarmed attacker and grappled with him. The boy struggled against his bonds. Natalia sliced through the ropes with a broken bottle. "Run for it!" the boy shouted to his sisters. As one, the little ones scattered and fled through the crowd like startled fish.

The trio were cornered against the gallows. Natalia slashed out with her makeshift glass dagger. The boy snatched up the discarded cudgel and lashed out. D'Eon was losing ground fast as he and his opponent rolled about in the filth and mud. He felt his opponent's hands closing on his throat. His lungs were burning for air. He could hear Natalia shouting in French as well as English. Darkness was closing in on him.

There came a trampling of boots. "Break it up! Break it up!" the market watchmen shouted. No, the crier was a soldier. A troop of soldiers were coming to their rescue. The pressure on his throat vanished as his attacker was hustled away by two stern-looking soldiers. Someone was helping him up. "You're a mess, D'Eon." It was Sir William. He recognized a few members of the Liberty Lodge nearby. "It was fortunate we lads were going to catch a play at the Globe and the General Wellington's soldiers were nearby. Next time, carry a sword," Sir William added.

D'Eon glanced at Natalia. She had cut her hand on the glass. The boy they had saved from hanging was binding her wound with a rag. She turned and winked impishly at her uncle to show him she was well.

"Thank you, kind sir," the boy bowed. "Thank you, my lady…"

"What's your name?" Natalia asked. "My poor mama called me Robbie, but folks call me Cocky Robin…"

"I will call you Robbie then."

"I am in your debt, my lady…"

"Call me Natalia."

* * *

In the grand cathedral, a page of history was being written.

"She is like an angel…" Camille gasped in awe as the bride and groom stood before the priest. Milien nudged him. The groom was none other than King Louis XVI and he looked bored. The bride was his long-time betrothed, Marie Antoinette of Austria, soon to be Queen of France. She was very young and very beautiful. Golden blond hair framed an elfin face. She held herself with the haughty air of one born to royal expectations.

"Shush," Francois urged. Both pages stopped talking. The Duke of Orleans and his entourage had been granted a place in the cathedral to witness this grand wedding. This was a honour for them to glimpse their king from so near. Sir Michel was in the crowd with his adopted son, Etienne. From where they were, Milien could see the redhead straining to peer over the shoulder of the baron in front of him. He had seen Etienne training with the other lads at the sword-fighting school. Sir Michel was setting Etienne up for the Imperial Guards, so the gossip went.

Cagliostro had managed to lie and charm his way into the court circles. A self-styled Italian count, he and Lorenza now attended balls and hung out with the crème de la crème of French nobility. Few questioned the legitimacy of his title. This was a far cry from when the pair sold potions on the road. Milien thought he glimpsed Lorenza standing with a portly churchman by the entrance. The 'count' was last seen with a simpering baroness outside the cathedral. The page wished Master Robespierre was there with him.

"No, it is impossible, I will not return to that place…" Robespierre had protested vehemently when Milien asked if he would be attending the royal wedding in Versailles. "I will be in Paris preparing to defend that merchant the Marquis de Neve accused of cheating…" he then shook Milien's hand off his forearm and went off. With the new Duke of Orleans' support, Master Robespierre had set up a legal practice defending the rights of the lower and middle classes.

Master Robespierre hated Versailles and its nobles, including the royal family, apart from the late Queen Marie. Now there was a new queen. _Marie Antoinette of France._ The bride took the quill and prepared to sign the marriage contract. There was a horrified gasp and a murmur of disapproval ran though the assembly. The bride had dropped a blot of ink on the contract when signing her name. It was a most unfortunate sign. Milien felt a sense of foreboding descend upon him.

The duke placed a reassuring hand on Milien's shoulder as if sensing his inner agitation. "It will not end well…" Milien whispered. "This is a political match to ensure peace between France and Austria," the duke shrugged. "Whether they like each other is of no importance." Francois nodded in agreement. "Poor girl…" Camille said. "Shut up. She's the queen, you twit," Francois corrected the page. "She has more power than any woman in France." Camille was precocious for his age and had already composed several soppy poems for any servant girl he had his eye on. Unfortunately, he had the roving eye and the subject of his adoration changed like the weather.

* * *

They found his 'sisters' at the shack where they lived. There were a dozen of them, all born to women of the bordello. The children were keeping at bay a pack of hungry dogs drawn by the smell of death from within. Robbie's poor mother lay rotting in her deathbed. William and D'Eon immediately sent for the undertaker.

"Your mother has been buried… and we will find good families for your sisters…" D'Eon announced as he stepped into the kitchen. William sat down in a chair and reached for his pipe and tobacco.

"Actually, we aren't really related but someone's got to care for them before they are old enough to work for the Madame…" Robbie wolfed down his food. Doris offered him a third helping which he readily accepted. She was swiftly besieged by his sisters. Sir William's townhouse was very crowded now.

"We are finding them families if not have them trained for service. I have spoken to my lodge-brothers and they have agreed to aid us in this. In fact, we are thinking of setting up a place for children who have no family to care for them… it would never do to have them end up as pickpockets and thieves," Sir William added. "You, young man, will work for us to pay off what you owe."

"Polish boots? No problem. I will scrub floors too, if my lady asks…" Robbie winked at Natalia. "You can start by scrubbing this pot, you monkey!" Doris said and plonked the empty pot before Robbie. "Yes, ma'am!" Robbie saluted her before taking the pot to the washing area. They had treated the awful wound on his neck but it would leave a scar. Natalia traced the mark on her own neck under her velvet choker and felt a sense of kinship with the older boy.

After being rescued, a grateful Robbie had poured out his life story to Natalia and her uncle. His mother was from Ireland and came to London to find work, only to end up with the Madame. He had no clue who his father was. He was fortunate that his mother did not drown him at birth as some women did with their sons. The daughters were kept by the Madame in the hope that they would one day join their mothers in the trade. Abortions were risky and death from botched operations was common. When Robbie's mother took ill, they were forced to leave. Having mastered the art of thievery, Robbie had wasted no time in persuading a number of the other children at the bordello to leave with them.

"Tommy ran off for the sea. Little Fran froze to death one night… Lucy vanished… We believed one of those perverted nobles got her…" What Robbie had not counted on was the grim realities of life on the streets for children. They begged and stole what they could to feed themselves as the health of Robbie's mother worsened. Many of the older girls chose to return to Madame Esmeralda.

That night as he lay in bed, D'Eon pondered how lucky he and his sister were. As children, they never went hungry or cold. They never had to beg or steal to survive. Their parents were there to protect them from all harm. Master Teillagory was also there for them. He felt happy that they were about to change the lives of those children, hopefully, for the better.

"Who's there?" he sat up suddenly. He was not alone. A small figure clambered into his bed. "Natalia?" It was unlike Natalia to climb into bed with him like that, even if she had a nightmare. D'Eon recalled that as a child, he had on occasion sought out the comfort of his elder sister's bed at night when tormented by bad dreams. Something brushed against his thigh. A hand brushed up against his chest. "Nightmare?" D'Eon reached over for his bedside candle and lit it.

"Robbie! What in God's name are you doing?"

The raven-haired boy stared solemnly through grey eyes. "I thought I'd pay you back for saving me and all…" the boy red-facedly buttoned his shirt. "I thought you noble-types like young boys or girls… wait, maybe I am going about this wrong… I am doing this for the first time…"

"The problem here is that I don't like boys that way, or little girls for that matter," D'Eon replied. "I thought, well, Sir William sent me over here…" Robbie fumbled with his breeches. "You went to Sir William's bed as well?" D'Eon smacked his brow. He should have guessed Sir William was involved somehow.

"Actually, he was busy reading his Bible and said you may be interested, since you have not been back to Madame Esmeralda's in a while…"

D'Eon pulled on his breeches and stormed to Sir William's room. "William, what was the meaning of sending Robbie to me for that?"

"What?" William feigned innocence. He closed his Bible and placed it in his lap. D'Eon threw up his hands in frustration. "If you two don't need me about, I'll go sleep in the kitchen by the fire with the others… have fun, sirs," Robbie slipped out. Before D'Eon could think of something to say, the doorbell rang.

"Sir William!" A man's voice shouted from the street. The bell jangled insistently.

"The Queen Dowager seeks your presence urgently and that of the royal tutor, D'Eon de Beaumont!"

**Author's Notes:**

The marriage of King Louis XVI (Auguste) and Marie Antoinette was not exactly blissful. The Queen was accused on more than one occasion of adultery. The king was said to have treated her coldly and ignored her in public during the early years of their marriage. Both parties would eventually be guillotined during the Revolution.

Queen Mary wants Sir William and D'Eon to come urgently? Something big must have happened.


	27. The Coven

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 27 – The Coven**

Their visitor was one of the Duchess' personal guards. The news was grim. There had been a terrible accident. The Duke of Buckingham, the abdicated King George III, had been thrown from his horse on a fox-hunt on this country estate. He struck a rock head-on, splitting open his skull. He was near death. The Duke's physician, another English Poet from Sir Dashwood's coven, was keeping him alive, but time was running out. The guard admitted he doubted the doctor would save his patient. The Queen Dowager Mary was summoning all Poets who still remained on English soil in a race to save her husband. They were given a few moments to dress for their journey. Sir William and D'Eon hurriedly threw on their clothes before climbing into the unmarked coach that waited.

"Uncle, I'm coming with you!" Natalia climbed into the coach. She was clad only in her nightdress. "Miss Doris tells you to let God's will be done," Natalia whispered when D'Eon draped his overcoat over her shoulders. He glanced up and out of the window. Doris was standing grimly at the door. Robbie's sisters clung to her skirts. The commotion had roused the household. "Wait up!" Robbie ran after the coach as the coachman started off at a hasty pace. With Sir William's aid, he opened the door and leapt within like some lean deerhound. There was no time for the children to disembark as the coach thundered onwards.

"Sir William, could King George III be saved by the power of poems? Or the dead revived?" D'Eon asked. His companion looked ashen. Natalia clung to D'Eon's arm while Robbie peered excitedly at the houses and countryside whipping by. He had never travelled by coach before. Their coach was travelling at high speed and threatened to tip over at turns in the road.

"I doubt so. I've never dared attempt such a deed… It is unnatural… I may conjure up the inner demons of a buried guilt or set a troubled soul to rest… But to heal a mortal wound, restore the soul to flesh…" Sir William shook his head. "Even if the soul can be halted from passing over, the vessel may be damaged beyond healing. Enough of this! We will deal with that we find at our destination," the younger man shrugged and settled down for a long bumpy ride. His companion looked older than his years. D'Eon recalled that despite Doris' teasing him as the elder one, Willie was only a few months his junior. Now he wondered what ill fate awaited him and any poet left in England.

Lia, Maximilien, Sir Dashwood and St Germaine had retrieved Queen Mary's soul and lodged it in the willing vessel of her sister. A poet had sealed Annette's soul into her dead body and revived it as a gargoyle for evil purposes. Were there other poets of similar calibre left in England? The thought unsettled him.

* * *

Milien cautiously peered through the crack of the study door. Master Robespierre was in pain from the poison. Stifling his groans, he clutched at his papers as he sprawled over his table. By mutual agreement, they were living under the roof of Duke d'Orlean in his Parisian apartments. 'Count' Cagliostro and his lady had retired to their bed after returning from the opera. Francois had dozed off while working on his essay on medicine. The young man was studying to be a doctor under the duke's sponsorship. Camille had sneaked out to meet a certain servant-girl he has a crush on.

"Master, is the pain again?" Milien entered. "Go to bed, Maximilien…" Robespierre growled. The pain was washing over him in dull waves, sending red flashes over his vision. Milien laid his hand on the man's shoulder and pressed his brow against his back, willing the pain to leave his guardian. This was no physical ailment that may be treated by bloodletting or medical powders. He wished Madame Roland had taught him how to heal such an injury. She had not taught him much on using the psalms for healing or undoing a spell cast by a poet.

He wondered if anyone was teaching his sister how to use the psalms.

"You shouldn't," Robespierre pushed his hand aside. "This pain will likely plague me for the rest of my life, unless Jean Paul chooses to undo what his demons have wrought." Jean Paul hated him almost as much he hated the king and the French nobility. It was unthinkable for him to beg that poet for assistance.

"But, sir! I wish to help you…" Milien sounded so earnest. Robespierre laughed dryly. He could see the boy he once was in the young page. "There's a screw of medicine I left in the glass in my bedchamber, on my bed-table. Bring it to me, with a bit of wine… That should ease the pain a bit."

"Yes, sir!" Milien scampered off.

* * *

"My sister was once approached by Sir Dashwood, who had earlier approached our father and me. God have mercy on his soul! Our family could trace our bloodline to that of the Witch Queen Anne Boleyn. Not everyone can master the poems. My sister was much wiser than I was. She refused to be part of his coven… Most of the poets who remained are those in in royal service or are too frail to cross the ocean…" Sir William chattered. The man was nervous.

They had drawn up at the gates of a grand country manor shortly after dawn after a hasty gallop through the night. The children were whisked off to the kitchens to be fed by a housekeeper. As for the men, they were escorted to a grand hall where several other poets have been assembled. D'Eon recognized a few from the Liberty Lodge but others were strangers.

"Lady Matilda, it is good to see you are in good health…" Sir William greeted a middle-aged woman who was coughing into her hanky. The woman was pale and looked consumptive. She acknowledged him with a thin smile. There was Lord Walsh, who was showing signs of a major hangover. A deacon was rubbing his rheumy eyes in a corner. All the poets looked beleaguered from responding to Queen Mary's hasty summons.

"Do something, please!" Queen Mary's voice shrilled out, a far cry from her normal composed tone. She swept into the hall in a whirl of skirts and petticoats. The court physician trailed behind her. He looked spent. "How many have assembled? How many are left?"

"Your Majesty…" There was murmur as the party bowed or curtsied. Queen Mary had been most merciful to the poets who were unable to leave England after Sir Dashwood's fall. "My father is on his deathbed and sends his apologies," a nervous-looking poet announced. "Ma'am, I apologised but Sir Maurice has left for Scotland yesterday…" a guard knelt.

"Sir William, could you do anything?" Queen Mary turned to the nearest poet. "D'Eon…" she looked the French knight straight in the eyes, silently pleading. D'Eon looked away. He had no power to help her, unlike his sister.

"Let us see the extent of His Majesty's injuries…" Sir William urged. "Alone."

Queen Mary commanded the guards and servants to leave them. "This way," she led them into a large bedchamber where two poets were busy sustaining her husband's life. They were the physician's grownup daughters. George III was deathly pale. His breathing was ragged. A blood-soaked linen wrap bound his skull. The newly-arrived poets exchanged knowing glances when the physician lifted the bandages to reveal the mess of blood, brain tissue and bone. Only the power of the poems forced air into his lungs and his heart to beat. The court physician and his daughters were unable to heal such damage alone.

"Your Majesty, I must be honest," Sir William shook his head. "This is beyond our abilities. We may knit the bone, mend his skull but there may have been damage. He may not be the same husband you…"

"He is our husband, for better or for worse, in sickness or health!" the distraught woman shouted. She took D'Eon by the arm. "D'Eon, please ask Lia. Ask your sister, how we may save George?" she whispered. "I am sorry. My sister is no longer with me. She has gone to her rest…" D'Eon apologised. "Please…" the woman moaned. He felt her fingers gripping his arm.

"Your Majesty, I will try my best…" Sir William ventured. He turned to the poets. "Brothers and sisters, what I propose cannot be achieved alone. Aye, there are risks involved. Still, who will lend their strength in this?" The physician raised his hand. "My daughters and I stand by you." Another poet raised his arm, followed by another… In all, the seven of the hastily-summoned poets volunteered. Sir William considered them carefully.

"Sorry, Matilda… as much as your offer is appreciated, but your health…" Sir William gently turned down the woman's offer. "I understand," Lady Matilda nodded and exited, still coughing. "Doctor, I thank you and your daughters for their aid all this time, but you have already done more than is required of your service," Sir William patted the physician on the shoulder. There were too few poets willing and able. "Reverend?" the knight turned to the churchman, who was a fairly competent poet in his own right. The deacon shook his white head of hair. "Willie, my lad. What you propose is against nature! No good can come of this. I urge you to accept the Lord's will… perhaps it is time for His Majesty to go home to the Lord. I apologise, your Majesty. I will pray for His Majesty." He stroked the Bible he carried in his hand.

"My uncle and I will stand with you!" Natalia barged in with jam on the corners of her lips. "Mmff fu," Robbie mumbled through a mouthful of bread. "I will go pray with Lady Matilda…" the deacon shook his head sadly and drifted out of the room with all the poets who had not volunteered. The physician took his place beside his daughters. The family was exhausted by their efforts. Sir William turned to D'Eon. "I will stay…" the Frenchman offered a reassuring hand to the distraught Queen Mary. When she took it, he gently steered her to an armchair.

Sir William ordered Robbie out of the room but allowed Natalia to take her place among the circle of poets. Lord Walsh, a pox-scarred baroness, an Oxford professor who was a lodge member but whose name slipped D'Eon's memory. The circle of five poets held hands and started chanting. The words rose and fell like an undulating wave with Sir William leading. A faint glowing aura surrounded the bed. The very walls trembled with the power of the poems. George fretted and tossed. The physician and his daughters came forward to restrain him.

"In the name of the Father, let His will be done!" Natalia gasped aloud, breaking from the rhythmic chanting. Immediately, the aura faded to nothingness. The circle parted hands. "What did that child do?" the baroness demanded. Lord Walsh restrained her. "She ruined everything," the baroness accused. Everyone crowded about.

"No harm done, on contrary…" the physician remarked. He lifted the bandages to reveal a healed brow. Only a few scars remained. The patient's breathing had levelled and he was apparently sleeping soundly. There was a murmur of amazement. "Natalia…" William lifted the girl up and hugged her. "Thank you, _merci_!"

"Don't thank me yet …" Natalia was solemn.

* * *

A few days later, George awoke, much to his wife's relief. However, it soon became apparent all was not well.

Natalia listened to the commotion coming from the Duke and Duchess' apartment. Sir William had accepted their hostess' invitation to stay for a few more days before returning to London, just to keep an eye on their patient. Robbie wasted no time in trying his hand at poaching rabbits from neighbouring estates, much to D'Eon's chagrin. Old habits die hard where the young thief was concerned. She sat down before the full length mirror in the guest chamber.

"Max? Think I made a mistake?" she asked her reflection. Perhaps she should have heeded Doris' warning. Max was busy. She shrugged. "Natalia?" Sir William's voice called out from outside her door. She went to answer the door.

"How is he?" she asked after the patient. "Not too good. He is confused and barely recognizes anyone," Sir William replied. He had since learnt that Natalia was far wiser than her tender years. "Where's Robbie? Not poaching pheasant again from Lord Charley's?"

"No. When I last checked, he was poaching rabbits. Is Uncle with Queen Mary?" she toyed with the end of her plait.

"Our patient threw the supper tray at her. Your uncle is busy consoling her, after he had our violent patient restrained in his bed. He earned a black eye for his pains. Should've tied George down from the start." The poet rubbed his temples. He was sure he had earned himself a couple of white hairs for his pains over the past days. "Thank goodness George IV and his siblings are in London. It will never do for them to see their father in such a state." A good hospital was worth some consideration if George III's condition failed to improve. However, it was certain that his wife would not consider that.

"Uncle?" D'Eon entered the room, sporting a black eye. He had Robbie's collar gripped in his hand. He held two toy swords in his other hand. "If you have the time to poach rabbits, perhaps you should try fencing or riding… Natalia?"

"With pleasure," Natalia grinned broadly. It has been a while since she last rode a horse or fenced with someone besides her uncle.

**Author's Notes:**

Historically, King George III suffered from mental illness in his later years. His son, George IV, acted as Regent during this period and ran the country.

Looks like Robbie is going to end up as Natalia's new companion.


	28. Growing Up

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 28 – Growing Up**

"Ahem, _ode to a black eye… shaded in violet_…" Sir William recited aloud, much to the children's amusement and D'Eon's annoyance. He wondered if the steak on his face was there to treat his black eye or an example of English humour at his expense. It smelt rather ripe. Doris had hurried over as soon as Sir William sent for her, bringing in tow Robbie's young sisters. They rode up to the royal country manor in a farm cart pulled by a tired old carthorse. She had prescribed the steak after she saw D'Eon's swollen eye. She smacked her brother's ear with a dried haddock and gave Natalia's a half-hearted tweak for their actions. Now she was attending to George III, after he has been sedated with poppy juice by the royal physician.

Queen Mary had aged in the past few days. She dabbed tears from the corner of her eyes when she entered the room with Doris. "His Majesty will recover, but he will not be as fit in mind as he was," Doris announced. "However, my concerns are for Her Majesty, she needs rest in her delicate condition…" D'Eon frowned at her words. He did not like where this was going.

"We are expecting another child," Queen Mary admitted as Doris urged her to rest in a comfortable armchair. "One of you two got to stay and help," Doris glared at the two men. "Seeing as I have to find homes and apprenticeships for these little girls you brought home." Sir William backed off with his hands held up defensively. "Uncle D'Eon could help, wouldn't you, uncle?" Natalia piped up. Before D'Eon could protest, he saw a look in Natalia's eyes reminiscent of her mother's when she would not brook any argument.

Thus D'Eon found himself moving in with the former monarch of England.

* * *

It was an arrangement that suited them surprisingly well. D'Eon continued tutoring the royal children while Natalia acted as companion to the dowager queen. George III's condition stabilized enough for him to be moved back to London. Often he would be content playing childish games with his children. On the rare occasion that he flew into a fit of rage, D'Eon often found himself on the receiving end of it. He had to shield Queen Mary and on occasion, his students. The younger children were much confused by their father's inconstant moods. The older ones were wary. George IV laid the blame fully upon the Frenchman who had moved in under his mother's roof. And he made certain the poor tutor felt it.

Sir William dropped by often, with young Robbie in tow. Robbie had set himself up in Sir William's household as a footman and student. The men would discuss events in recent days. In particular, the growing rift between the colonies and the Crown. Robbie and Natalia would take to fencing on the balconies or in the gardens. If it rained, Robbie and Natalia played their violins indoors. Robbie proved to be an able musician though often the tunes he fiddled were of a bawdy origin. In his time he had provided music for the Madame's waiting clients.

Natalia continued with her lessons under Sir William's tutelage. In summer, D'Eon would send Natalia to the Wordsworth's farm in Dover with Robbie. Natalia enjoyed riding and Robbie was a willing companion both in horsemanship and swordsmanship. Thus the months passed until one morning in Dover brought to D'Eon attention that his niece was fast leaving childhood.

* * *

D'Eon had been encouraged to take a fortnight off his duties to recover from a stubborn infection of the lungs. He chose to spend it away from London in the clean country air of Dover at Sir William's recommendation. Country life agreed with him and the children as it did with Doris. Robbie's sisters had been properly settled. Several had found homes with kindly couples while the older ones were learning a trade in dressmaking or service. A few still lingered on the farm, helping with the cows and chickens.

D'Eon had been horrified to witness on his arrival, Natalia furiously lunging at Robbie with her sword before kicking his legs out from under him so that he fell head over heels off the barn roof and into a haystack. He soon learnt that such displays were not uncommon and Robbie often escaped with a few cuts and bruises. He did warn Natalia later to be less eager in her swordsmanship. "But Robbie encourages me so," Natalia pouted. "On the streets he says there is no second chance. If you have to wield a weapon, you better make it count."

Robbie's swordsmanship was not as good as Natalia's but he was a fast learner. He was swift and agile. What he lacked in style, he compensated in deadliness. D'Eon also learnt that Robbie was talented in throwing knives and would often fight dirty literally. Sand, mud and even flapping laundry were mere props to be used to distract an opponent to allow an escape or an attack.

* * *

That morning, the household, with the exception of Natalia, were sitting down to breakfast. Natalia had complained of a bellyache and D'Eon expected that she was sleeping in. Just as Doris finished saying grace, a scream rent the air. It was Natalia.

D'Eon found his thirteen-year-old niece wide-eyed and bewildered beside her bed. A dark reddish stain soiled the sheets. Natalia was clutching the covers to her chin. "What's wrong with me?" she bleated. Doris came over to take a look after sending the farmhands and others back to their meal. "What's the matter with her? Why is there blood…." All manner of horrible thoughts filled D'Eon's mind. _Had she been attacked? Was she ill?_

"Don't you worry. The little one is now a young woman…" Doris replied. "I will need to teach her some things a young woman should be aware of…"

"Let me show her the ins and outs of that," Robbie crowed. "I could let her have a look at Bill the stable hand frolicking with Bessie the milkmaid in the milking shed… Nothing like practical experience, know what I mean?" In reply, Natalia blushed red and tossed a pillow which clipped Robbie's shoulder. Goose feathers floated everywhere.

"You will do no such thing," D'Eon seized the youngster by his vest and dragged him away so that Doris and Natalia could have some privacy. His mind was in turmoil. Most French noblewomen were betrothed in childhood, sometimes still in the cradle. Anna was only nine when their families arranged their engagement. He had been remiss in his duty to his niece. He needed to find Natalia a decent young man to be her husband. Her illegitimacy would weigh against her. Perhaps he could find a kind widower or a merchant who might not be so particular about her origins.

* * *

"She was practically hitching up those skirts for you and nothing happened?" Camille slapped his brow in disbelief. "She is a tad too young for me," Milien admitted. Besides, at thirteen, he was not inclined to think about starting a family yet. Charlotte pouted coquettishly at him across the taproom. Her little ankles peeked out from under her petticoats. "Give her a few more years and you'll have to fight off an army of suitors to get to her," Camille warned. Charlotte's guardians were urging her to leave, much to her dismay. She blew a kiss at Milien when her guardians were not looking.

"I will consider it a challenge," Milien teased. "Well, that Austrian woman has been making eyes at the admiral and her husband has been playing catch with her ladies-in-waiting, so I heard from the guards when I delivered the Duke's letters to Versailles," Milien sipped at his wine. "If you put that in your paper, I can guarantee your editor will be doing a long stint in the Bastille. Any news from Master Robespierre?"

"He isn't in prison, we can be thankful for that. Francois arranged for him to leave for Switzerland but it seems he took the road to Italy with that Count and his lady. Don't worry, he always shows up back here. Did you hear? Francois is getting married to this really odd lady. Annemarie or something. They say she stuffs rabbits and birds for the court…" Camille said. "She also does death masks… I think Francois is marrying her because her foster father is a court physician. He will be a doctor sooner..."

"Heaven forbid!" Milien shuddered. Francois was hopeless at surgery. He once took the wrong leg off a patient, along with his assistant's hand, so they said at the university.

"Speak of the devil," Camille nodded as their struggling physician loped into the inn. "Mil, am I glad to see you. Master Robespierre's back. He's at the Duke's apartments at Rue d'Palais. He took ill en route from Milan… I put a couple of leeches on him and will gladly bleed him if needed…."

"Monsieur Francois Tussad, keep your leeches and knives away from Master Robespierre or I swear I will bleed you to death," Milien warned and leapt to his feet. "No one ever dies of bleeding if it's done well…" Francois protested. "Exactly. It's a pity Doctor Roland taught you bone-setting and poultices but failed to impart the arts of the surgery to you," Milien retorted over his shoulder. He placed a hand on his sword hilt for emphasis.

"Go to your Master now," Camille urged. He did not want to see Milien leaping at Francois' throat. Milien left.

* * *

He found Master Robespierre lying on the couch with Lorenza stoically yanking leeches off him and tossing them into a chamber pot. Even an untrained woman had the common sense to know that an entire bucket of leeches was overdoing it. Cagliostro was busy trying to sell a potion to cure plague and pox to Robespierre, who was fairly about to shoot him if only he could get to the pistols in his belt, which hung out of reach on the coat rack.

"Master, shall I shoot him for you?" Milien asked quietly as he took the pistol out of the belt and cocked it. "Now, now, no need for that…" Cagliostro stopped his prattle. "I'll go meet some ladies. I have some potions to sell them for charming the man of their dreams…" He beat a hasty retreat.

"What has been happening in Versailles?" Robespierre asked. "The king is playing catch with the queen's ladies. The Queen is looking set to buy one of Cagliostro's love potions," Milien replied. He felt Robespierre's brow. It was a tad warm. Possibly a fever from the heat of the journey. "To get the attentions of His Majesty?" Robespierre smiled weakly. Clearly the queen's charms had failed where His Majesty was concerned.

"No. To get the attentions of an admiral and possibly that up-and-coming captain La Fayette," Milien replied seriously. Robespierre laughed. "Do they return her affections?"

"I hear no. They had more sense than to have an affair with the queen. Getting beheaded, quartered and pickled for a little tête-à-tête can be unpleasant…" Milien grinned.

Milien was a smiling fellow, having grown in confidence in his master's absence. The likeness to Sir D'Eon was still strong though he had started to show a bit of his father in the jaw and the sardonic twist of his lips. He was nowhere as serious as D'Eon or as melancholic as his father. Milien was now about as old as Robin was when his world collapsed about him. Those violet-blue eyes looked upon life with a mix of fearlessness and bemusement. Sometimes even Robespierre found he had no idea what his charge was thinking.

Having removed the last leeches, Lorenza stomped on a few stray leeches which had fallen to the floor and shoved the chamber pot of the wriggling bloodsuckes under the couch. "You still have the Psalms?" she asked Milien.

"They are in a safe place." Milien had hollowed out a small cavity in the wall of his room and placed the book within, hiding it behind the small bookcase the Duke provided him with. It was his sister's idea. It was too risky to carry the Psalms on his person when he was running errands for the Duke of Orleans. Not even Camille, who shared his room until recently knew of it. Milien did his work late at night while his roommate slumbered.

The English court and life in London and on the Wordsworth farm agreed with Lia but he still missed his sister._ I wish you were here in Paris, Lia… _he would pray at night for her return to France.

_We are always together, aren't we, Max?_ She had chided him gently the last time they spoke in the mirror. They were growing apart. And Milien hated it. _I am a young woman now, Max, Doris told me. That would mean that you are a young man now. _He was no longer a little boy. He could not ask Master Robespierre for comfort when his master needed comfort himself. He could not seek out Camille or his master's company when the nightmares came. And they were drawing closer. He saw it in the pages of the book. He could not tell dear Lia.

He had taken special pains to avoid Sir Michel Rochefort and, particularly his foster son Etienne at court. It would be awkward to explain why a former page of Lady Sophie's had found employment under the Duke of Orleans under another name. Soon, he would seek out Etienne, when the latter had all but forgotten how Nat the page looked. It would be soon. Etienne Rochefort has excelled as a swordsman under the best tutors Sir Michel could afford and he looked set to be appointed as the captain of the Queen's personal guard.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon is a real pushover whenever it comes to the girls.

The children are growing up even though they are apart now. A bit into Robin's life as Robespierre. Etienne's appointment as captain of the guard may prove to be trouble. Auguste's marriage is definitely shaky if the rumours Milien heard are true. Leeches and bloodletting were common cures in Europe until the 19th century. Yuck.


	29. Best Laid Plans

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 29 – Best Laid Plans**

"William, I am _not_ betrothing Natalia to any of them!" D'Eon growled. They were at Sir William's London townhouse. The English knight had introduced a dismal string of potential fiancés for his niece. Why couldn't he find at least one honest man he could entrust Natalia's happiness to? Baron Charleson was nothing but an old lecher eager for young flesh. The son of Earl Huntington was a wastrel and seemed to prefer boys from the leers he tossed in Robbie's direction. Then there was that drooling moron who was chaperoned by his stern vulture of a mother.

"You drive a hard bargain, D'Eon… How about this? I marry the little miss and you marry my sister…" William nonchalantly filled his pipe.

"William! We are talking marriage, not some trade!" D'Eon fumed. Doris had a fierce temper and a hard hand. Even D'Eon had experienced that hard hand first-hand. He rated it just below being kicked by George III down the stairs.

"My sister is capable of running a farm, a terrific cook and housekeeper. And you'll get the farm. What more do you want? How did your parents work out your engagement?" The Englishman lit his pipe and took a puff.

"Well, my father and my fiancée's were friends and well, er…" D'Eon stammered. He never really thought much about how marriages were arranged. Lia's engagement ended abruptly when her fiancé died of smallpox when he was still a lad of ten. That was about the time Lia started sword fighting lessons under Master Teillagory with her brother and no self-respecting noble household would agree to let such a girl marry into their family.

"Your fiancée is not about to complain now, is she?" William chuckled. "Look, I know you are having some problems with His Majesty," he was serious now. "He docked your pay again, didn't he? George IV hates you but he can't toss you out because of his mother. But he can make your appointment very difficult, especially since Queen Mary has entrusted the royal household finances to him now. You have to make plans for your niece's future… and yours. Eight shillings a month is low for a royal tutor."

"But I am not sacrificing Natalia's happiness by marrying her off to some…"

"There is always our little Robbie… Would you believe that the lad's serenading our young lady now?" He paused as Robbie's voice broke out in a bawdy ballad about a knight, lady and a certain chastity belt. The singing was coming from downstairs. D'Eon was horrified when Natalia's clear voice joined in the chorus.

"Natalia!" D'Eon dashed downstairs. Robbie had taken up his fiddle and was fiddling along to Natalia's dancing and singing. Doris was knitting in a corner and humming along. "Natalia!" D'Eon exclaimed. His niece's hair was dishevelled and she was lifting her skirts way too high as she kicked and whirled. She stopped to catch her breath. Natalia was like her mother in looks but Lia was so much more serious, and somewhat dignified at all times in front of him.

"We were having so much fun, uncle!" she gasped and took him by the hand, pulling him into the dance. D'Eon could not help but laugh as well. Doris discarded her knitting and joined in the jig with her brother. Robbie started dancing as he fiddled an Irish reel.

After finishing the dance, D'Eon asked Robbie if they could have a sparring session. The Irish lad agreed and took out his rapier. "Watch for his hands," Natalia warned. Robbie could use both hands with equal and deadly skill. "Shall we do a double?" Robbie challenged. "Us students against Sir D'Eon?"

"Bring it on!" D'Eon cried out. Natalia obliged and taking her rapier off the wall. It was a long time since he had such a workout.

* * *

"The children have been pitching in to help the household finances," Sir William said a few days later. He pushed a manuscript into D'Eon's hand. "_Memoirs of a Chevalier_?" D'Eon frowned as he read the title. He browsed through the pages. "Natalia wrote it with Robbie's help… I thought I better let you browse it first before I send it to the publishers. Especially since…"

"_Bon dieu_! I didn't spend a night in a bordello in St Petersburg!" D'Eon's eyes almost popped out of his head.

"No objections to the part about dressing up as a lady?" William teased. "I guess Robbie tossed in that juicy bit about the bordello…"

* * *

"Well, we could do a quest for the holy grail or something," Robbie suggested as he crouched at the foot of Natalia's desk. Natalia's quill lingered over the page. "We could be like the knights of the Round Table…"

"More like Knights of the Gallows and Gutters…" Natalia bit her lip thoughtfully. There were some things even she could not put into a purported work of fiction. "How's Her Majesty?" Robbie asked.

"Worried about His Majesty… he has been having his fits lately… Maybe I made a mistake saving him…" Natalia replied regretfully. "Aw, Queen Mary still has a husband and he did manage to give her more babies… I call that carrying out his duties as a husband," Robbie jibed. "Of course when she's in confinement or busy with old George III, Sir D'Eon gets stuck with the job of nursemaid to the royal brood… George IV hates him. He thinks Sir D'Eon is trying to replace his old man. Personally, I would be embarrassed if my dad takes to running about the gardens in his undergarments."

"Robbie, he has shoved her down the stairs twice, broken her arm once and given her bruises more often than I care to count…" It would probably be more often if D'Eon had not stepped in constantly to shield Queen Mary. "We could put him in an asylum or sanatorium…" If only his wife would agree. George III's condition was unpredictable. Some days he was to all appearances sane, while on others, he would break into a rage or some strange fancy.

"His Majesty George IV hates Sir D'Eon… He might be tempted to do a Saint Thomas a Becket on him."

"What do you mean by that?" Natalia asked. "Well, once upon a time in old England there was a churchman who pissed off the king big-time. So His Royal-ness dropped some huge hints to his men. His loyal men trotted off to the cathedral to send our churchman to his Maker," Robbie related the tale of Saint Thomas a Beckett. "Sir D'Eon isn't a priest so I guess we can't have him canonized even if he gets assassinated."

"Is there anything we can do so that George does not hire someone to kill Uncle?" Natalia was serious now.

"We could get him fired. Royals can be very particular about manners and protocol…"

"Well, Queen Mary is very lenient with regards to protocol where Uncle and I are concerned. She was a very close friend of my poor mama," Natalia trimmed her quill. "We could persuade Sir D'Eon to resign his post as tutor. What if he makes some faux pas he can't get over?" Robbie suggested.

"What do you propose?" D'Eon was an exemplary model of courtly etiquette.

"Get him drunk, strip him to his undergarments and leave him in the schoolroom for the chambermaids to find."

"Robbie! What a devilish plan!" Natalia gathered up her latest chapter. "Let's get this over to Sir William for the publisher. We will talk more about the plan later… I need to accompany Queen Mary to the gala tonight." They would need to look at alternative employment for Sir D'Eon first. He could become a scribe at Liberty Lodge of which he was recognized as a friend of the current lodge master Sir William. The lodge paid well. Robbie did a four month stint there until that incident with a gold pocket watch that saw Sir William reluctantly dismissing him.

Then Robbie managed to instil his presence about D'Eon and Natalia at Buckingham. Natalia and D'Eon made sure that he did not pilfer any of the royal trinkets in the palace. Fortunately for them, the boy had no desire to draw the ire of the royal household. His often critical remarks about D'Eon in George IV's presence set him up as a possible partner in any scheme to rid the palace of the French presence. Natalia and D'Eon knew that below his deferent attitude to the English king, Robbie thought that George IV was a self-centred brat.

Unfortunately for them, Robbie had no intention of refining his plan. In fact, he had every intention of putting it into action that very night.

* * *

"Robbie? What are you doing here at this hour? Natalia is away with the queen mother…" D'Eon looked up from his journal when Robbie strolled in with a bottle in hand and a book under his arm. He had been writing and preparing the lessons in the schoolroom. The youth grinned impishly. His raven-black hair was tied back in a ponytail with a blue velvet ribbon filched from Natalia's dresser. His grey eyes gleamed with intelligent mischief. He was as wiry as a deerhound.

Five years had passed since D'Eon saved the lad from being lynched. Queen Mary was away at the Duchess of Kent's gala dinner. She was expected to spend the night at the Duchess'. George IV, now a young man of twenty, was away in the country. The incapacitated George III was slumbering in an opiate-induced sleep in the palace. D'Eon had checked on him as per Her Majesty's instructions, once the doctor left him.

"I thought I could use a lesson in French over a few glasses…" Robbie grinned and filled two glasses with the wine he had brought. "It's from Gascony… Perhaps one day I'll be able to speak French at the lodge without being shown to the servants' exit. It gets embarrassing for Sir Willie to find me banished to the street by the doorman."

D'Eon laughed. Robbie's conversational French was fluent as far as tavern talk was concerned but he had a long way to speaking in a manner acceptable to polite society. He was always glad to teach such an eager student. "Let's start with how to properly address someone…" D'Eon started. Robbie opened his book, which was covered with his near-illegible scrawl. Robbie watched carefully as D'Eon sipped at his wine with pleasure. It was a good vintage, Robbie acknowledged.

* * *

Natalia sensed something was wrong when she knocked on her uncle's bedroom door and received no reply. It was unlike her uncle to lie in so late. She had just returned with the queen mother after breakfasting at the Duchess'. The duchess was a pious widow given to supporting charitable works but the conversation failed to get her interest. They had spotted the invalid former king wading in the garden pond on the way in but her uncle was nowhere near to watch him. Only a pair of footmen humoured the royal personage by wading in the pond with him. The older royal children were away visiting in the country and were not back yet. The younger ones would be in the care of their nursemaids in the nursery wing of the house.

"Uncle?" she tried the door and found it unlocked. The bed had not been slept in. There was no sign of D'Eon in the room. Sensing trouble, she went to the schoolroom. She saw the empty bottles on the floor before she spotted the figure lying across the desk.

"Robbie, wake up!" she slapped the snoring youth hard. "Whassat? Oh, my head… that was good wine…" Robbie slurred and waved an empty wine bottle he was still holding.

"Where's my uncle?" she asked through gritted teeth. "Over yonder…" he replied and waved his hand at an odd pile of discarded garments, shoes and stockings… Natalia rummaged through the pile. D'Eon's shoes, stockings, vest and breeches were there. "Cripes, he walked out in his shirt…" Robbie grinned. "What a sight that'd be."

"Robbie, you have to the count of ten to find him before I bludgeon you to death…" Natalia hissed as she grabbed her violin. "One…"

"Hold on, isn't that Georgie boy riding up in his coach with his sisters?" Robbie pointed out the window. "We have to find Uncle D'Eon quick!" Natalia tucked her violin under her arm. "You take the West Wing and I'll take the East!"

King George IV was home from the country.

* * *

"Oooh, my head…" D'Eon awoke with a splitting headache. He regretted letting Robbie talk him into opening that last bottle. They would have to restock the cellar. How many had they opened? Three? Or was it four? The rest of it was a blur. He sat up. To his horror, he found himself not in his room, nor his own bed. The royal coat of arms of Hanover was emblazoned above the grand dresser mirror. The dresser top was decked with an open jewel case, jars of face paints and ribbons. It dawned on him whose bedroom he had staggered into last night.

"Oh no…" he needed to leave before anyone finds him here. Heart thumping wildly, he staggered to his feet, the room swam around him.

"D'Eon! What are you- Oh!" Queen Mary dropped the fan she was holding and averted her eyes. Too late D'Eon recognized the garment on the carpet as his shirt. He seized it from the floor, turned his back to the queen mother and hurriedly put on his shirt. He had not buttoned the first button when...

"You damned French dog!" someone shouted in rage. It was George IV. The livid king stood beside his shocked mother. He was shaking with rage. Never had D'Eon felt so exposed and helpless.

**Author's Notes:**

This little faux pas is going to see D'Eon and Natalia leave London at the very least, if D'Eon survives that long.

The little legend about Thomas a Becket is a true one. The king said something like: "Who'd rid me of this troublesome priest?" Unfortunately, some of the knights with him took that as a royal command, trotted over the Thomas a Becket's and killed him.


	30. Onward to Vienna

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 30 – Onward to Vienna**

"Your Majesty, please, I can explain…" D'Eon pleaded. "Yes, George. I am sure Chevalier de Beaumont has some explanation…" Queen Mary had recovered her composure. Unfortunately, the young king was in no mood to listen to explanations. He seized a heavy claymore off the display on the wall in the hall outside. "Die you swine!" D'Eon stepped backwards and found himself trapped against the dresser. George IV swung viciously at his head with the heavy blade.

Queen Mary let loose a shriek as glass shattered. The shocking turn of events proved too much. She fell in a swoon, into Natalia's arms. "Uncle, run!" Natalia shouted. The commotion had attracted her and Robbie. D'Eon had dodged the blade at the last possible moment. Unscathed, he scrambled for the exit. George IV was panting heavily. He was no swordsman. The claymore was too heavy for him.

"Firearm, your Majesty?" Robbie nonchalantly loaded a duelling pistol and handed it to the young king. "Thank you, my good man," George IV took the firearm from Robbie and set off in hot pursuit of his tutor.

"Whatever was that for?" Natalia glared at Robbie. Now D'Eon will be shot. Robbie grinned mischievously and winked at her.

* * *

Meanwhile, maidservants shrieked and averted their eyes while manservants shouted encouragement. "Blow his Frenchie butt back to Paris, sire!" D'Eon streaked frantically with his shirt open and flapping. He did not relish being shot or hacked to death clad only in a shirt. At least let him get properly dressed! In his panic and embarrassment, he made a wrong turn and found himself cornered in the garden.

"Any last words?" The barrel of the pistol was level with his heart. "Your Majesty, I confess I had a little too much drink last night… I apologize for any distress caused to you and Her Majesty …" D'Eon started.

"I trust not," George IV had no intention of hearing D'Eon out. He pulled the trigger. There was only a wet click. Puzzled, he studied the gun. "It's wet! That damned dog of yours gave me a wet gun!" He marched up to D'Eon and struck him across the jaw. He would have punched him if weren't for the music. It was Natalia. D'Eon recognized her music anywhere. It was soothing melody and seemed to tame George IV's rage.

"You and yours hereby exiled from England! You have a week to leave or be hung for treason!" the young king announced. "Now get out of my sight!"

* * *

"Her Majesty's pleas on your behalf only seemed to stiffen George's resolve to see you gone, D'Eon," Sir William admitted as he handed his brandy flask to D'Eon. "As a friend, I will do what I can… how on Earth did you let yourself get into such a mess? Doris is shocked by what has been said in the marketplace about you. News travels… look on the bright side, none of your princess students saw you streaking through the palace. Too bad the servants did."

D'Eon sullenly took a swig of brandied tea from the English knight's flask.

"Blame it on Robbie," Natalia sulked. Both uncle and niece were sitting on a green hillside after been hastily ejected from the palace. "Speaking of Robbie, where's the imp?" Sir William asked. In reply, Natalia kicked a large barrel next to her down the hill. Robbie's cries came from within. "Natalia! You told me he was visiting his sisters!" D'Eon gaped as the barrel split open on a tree stump and dumped a dishevelled Robbie into the mud.

"He did. And they sent him back in a barrel of horse piss. He promised them a place in the King's household as royal dressmakers but now…" the young lady shrugged prettily. "Sir William, how's Her Majesty?" Natalia flicked her braid over her shoulder as she spoke. She wore a rustic peasant dress that suited her. "Her Majesty is expecting again and the rumour flying about is that you, Sir D'Eon, are responsible for her condition," Sir William said with a straight face. D'Eon spluttered. "Of course that is just malicious gossip arising from the fact that you spent a night in her bed. Never mind if she was at the Duchess of Kent's that night…"

"Sir Willie, you told me you had a plan to help them…" Robbie staggered up the hill reeking of horse urine. "Phew, you need a bath," Sir Willie remarked. "I was lucky, Flo and Nan wanted to drown me in the horse piss but they couldn't find enough for the whole barrel," Robbie grinned. D'Eon steadied him on his feet. It was fortunate that Robbie had acted quickly in pouring a vase of water down the barrel of the pistol before offering the firearm to the king.

"Right, I pulled a few favours in at the Lodge. There is a delegation leaving for Vienna, I suppose a few more clerks would not make much difference…" Sir William filled his pipe in preparation for a smoke.

"What about Natalia?" D'Eon asked. They could dress her up as a boy but-

"Don't worry, I will write a letter of recommendation for her to learn the violin under the Bach family in Vienna. They have produced many royal musicians to the court of Empress Maria Teresa of Austria," he laughed and patted Natalia on the head fondly. "You have learnt your lessons well, little princess. Use the psalms wisely," he lifted her hand to his lips and bestowed a kiss on her fingers.

"Will we meet again, sir?" Natalia asked. "You should know the answer to that, princess," Sir William tipped his hat to her. "God bless you, Sir D'Eon, and you too, Robbie-lad!"

* * *

True to his promise, William placed D'Eon, Natalia and Robbie with a delegation posted to the English embassy in Vienna. Vienna was a city that almost rivalled Versailles in its art and architecture. However, it was the music that was its soul. Opera, chamber music, the city drew the brightest. No star shone as that of the Bach family. Sadly, Sir William's letter failed to secure Natalia the much-hoped for patronage.

"Don't worry, Natalia. There are other ways of earning a living," Robbie said as his stomach growled. D'Eon tried to ignore his own hunger pangs. They were running low on funds. Sir William's lodge-brother at the embassy had been kind enough to offer them lodging and meals at the embassy. However, with the exception of Robbie, they were not English citizens and could not expect to stay at the embassy long. The embassy had more than enough clerks. The trio took rooms at a shabby inn while Natalia waited for her appointment. Summer melted into autumn and their funds dwindled. D'Eon and Robbie's attempts to find employment met with dismal failure. Robbie was obliged to return to his thievery to put food in their mouths, D'Eon stubbornly refused to partake of any meal that was not honestly earned and suffered the most for it.

"What shall we do, besides asking Natalia to sell her body or me to steal another loaf?" Robbie bemoaned their lot. D'Eon felt like rapping Robbie on the head for that but he was too weak. His cheeks were hollow and his figure gaunt. He had sold most of his good clothes and was left with a thin coat that provided little protection from the turning weather. Natalia's eyes were solemn in her pale face as she smoothed out the skirts of the only good dress she now owned. She had tried busking with Robbie but the patrolling soldiers always forced them to leave. Her violin hung idle at her side.

She walked over to a rain barrel and peered into its depths. "Max?" she asked quietly. Her twin's face appeared as a hazy mist in the water. As they grew apart, it became more difficult to see him clearly. It was as if he were intentionally blocking out his image.

* * *

"Lia? How are things?" Milien peered into the still water of a pond in the garden of Versailles. Robbie was an imbecile to get Lia kicked out of the English palace. He was worried. As his sister and uncle struggled, things were progressing well for him.

_"I am well, but, oh… I have a plan but I don't know… it is awfully impudent…"_

"Be brave and bold, Lia. We have to walk our own paths… Master Robespierre told me that, no matter how daunting it may seem…" Milien glanced up to see the new captain of the Queen's guards running up to him. "Farewell, Lia…" he dipped his hand into the water so that the ripples shattered his sister's image before Etienne Rochefort reached him. They had met at one of the Duke's house parties and somehow Etienne became a fast friend of his. He needed to find out something from him.

"How's Camille Desmoulins?" he asked Etienne. Camille had been seized by soldiers from his doorstep and in front of his newlywed wife. "The man has been wed barely two weeks and his wife is frantic… you took him in…"

"_Letter de cache,_ he wrote something insulting the queen. His Majesty had him detained in St Giles' prison. Don't worry, he will be out soon with the Duke of Orleans speaking on his behalf," the redhead replied. "I passed him the food you sent him- Mil, why do you mix with those pamphleteers?"

"He's a boyhood friend of mine, Etienne. I have no wish to see him in trouble," Milien toyed with a water lily pad. "I see you have a new uniform…"

"Well, Milien, how do I look?" Etienne adjusted his jacket nervously.

"Etienne, you look every bit a royal knight, we really must have you knighted…our knight in shining armour," the queen twittered as she glided down the stairs followed by her ladies. Etienne and Milien rose and bowed politely. Marie Antoinette reached out to stroke Etienne's cheek with a gloved hand. The redhead looked upon her face in sheer adoration. A senior lady stepped forward to remind the queen of courtly protocol. With a look of distaste, the young queen let her hand fall to her side. "We will see you later in our salon…" she smiled coyly and walked away.

Like a moonstruck calf, Etienne watched her leave. "She is an angel, isn't she? All innocent…" Etienne sighed. Milien smacked him on the head lightly. "Etienne, mon ami. Wake up. She is the queen, damn it! Though she behaves like a Parisian…" Milien bit back the word 'whore' before he could say it. Master Robespierre had warned him not to voice his opinions too openly in public. However, Etienne guessed what he meant to say.

"Insult her, _mon ami_, and I swear I will kill you…" There was a rasp of steel as Etienne drew his rapier an inch or so.

"You can try, but not here. One hour later, in the wood outside the gate. This is a promise, keep it!" Milien pushed Etienne's blade back into its scabbard and slapped his hip. He would need to fetch his sword. It was a pity clerks could not carry weapons so openly. Milien and Etienne were evenly matched. They had fallen into an odd alliance in the palace of Versailles. Etienne would have his heart broken by his angel sooner or later. What Milien had to do was to keep him from trouble before then.

* * *

"A parade…" Robbie said wearily. D'Eon nodded weakly. The Empress often went out in great pomp to the opera of which she is a patron. He watched the six soldiers on ceremonial white horses prance by. The horsemen were there to protect the Empress and her convoy against any danger. The citizens bowed, curtsied or doffed their hats at the Empress' passage. D'Eon forced Robbie to bow slightly as the Imperial carriage approached. They were on the very edge of the crowd. The Empress, resplendent in furs and jewels, waved to the cheering crowd.

"Help me, oh!" Natalia suddenly pitched forward as if in a faint. Before D'Eon could steady her, she rolled dangerously close to the hooves of a white horse which was pulling the Imperial carriage. The spooked beast reared and whinnied. The coachman shouted. Robbie leapt for the horse's bridle, catching the reins in an attempt to calm the horse. The hooves crashed down on Natalia's violin, smashing it to splinters and narrowly missing her head.

"Natalia, wake up!" D'Eon rushed forward to his stricken niece and pulled her clear of the flailing hooves. "Whenever is the matter with that girl?" a soldier remarked as he approached cautiously on his horse.

"She faints from hunger. We are poor travellers whose funds are much depleted…" Robbie spoke for them and bowed. He had spoken politely in French, not to the soldier, but to the Empress. "Forgive our trespass, your Highness…"

"Surely, there is employment to be found for the likes of you and your companion," the Empress replied haughtily. "Alas, we are strangers to this city. My master and his niece are both sickly and I am but a poor unmannered servant." _What was Robbie up to?_ D'Eon's heart thumped as he held Natalia in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Woe is me! My poor violin is broken…" Natalia moaned as she reached for her wrecked instrument. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks. "Whatever shall we do, uncle? I will no longer be able to play for a few coins…" Natalia buried her face into D'Eon's chest. This was unlike Natalia. D'Eon was stunned. He looked down at her trembling form. _Was that a ghost of smile on her lips?_

"Lift your face," the Empress commanded. D'Eon raised his eyes and looked directly into the eyes of Maria Teresa. She was well into her later years. Her hair was pale from age rather than powder and lines marked her face. Her eyes were intelligent and keen. For a moment, D'Eon felt that she was looking into his soul and weighing him.

"You have an honest look unlike your servant…" she finally replied and tossed a small purse of gold coins to him. "Get some food for the child and present her at the palace tomorrow. We wish to replace her violin, as well as hear her play."

"_Merci,"_ Natalia thanked the Empress weakly as D'Eon steered her back to the side of the street. Robbie followed him. The procession continued on its way.

**Author's Notes:**

Natalia and Milien are about 15 now. Robbie is the same age as them. And he is a bit of a rogue. Picture him as a more roguish version of Durand. Quick-witted, tough and not exactly honest.

Etienne is older at 18, but he is so gullible. The French queen is acting like a bit of an airhead here. There will be problems later on that score. Empress Maria Teresa of Austria is the mother of the French queen Marie Antoinette. Marie Antoinette is the youngest of her children.


	31. A Royal Audience

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

D'Eon is going to meet some acquaintances from his past.

**Chapter 31 – A Royal Audience**

"Robbie, slow down. The chicken will not fly away," D'Eon exclaimed as Robbie tucked in heartily into the roast chicken he had bought. There was baked cheese, buttered potatoes and beef sausages. Red wine in their glasses caught the light from the fire. Natalia looked solemn and picked at her food. "Nervous?" D'Eon sliced a piece of chicken for her. She shook her head. "Uncle, I have faith in my skill on the violin. I am more worried about you, uncle. Whatever will we do with you?"

D'Eon coughed as he choked on his wine. "I can return to being a thief until they hang me. Natalia could get hitched even if she doesn't charm the Empress with her fiddling… but you, Sir D'Eon, are a good-for-nothing exiled knight," Robbie summarized. "Am not," D'Eon protested furiously. "Are too. Didn't George IV exile you from England? How about you crawl back to Versailles and beg your Frenchie king for a job, perhaps as a companion to some old dame? You got along well enough with Queen Mary…"

"Definitely not." There was no way he was going to beg anyone in Versailles for a job. His sister would be horrified. His long dead father disgraced. Robbie's words sat uneasily in the back of his mind. He needed to find some means of earning a livelihood.

* * *

The next morning, D'Eon helped Natalia dress her hair. She has to look her best for the audience with the Empress. Natalia wore her best gown. The green fabric flattered her colouring. She wore a simple black velvet ribbon about her neck to hide her scar. D'Eon braided her golden hair with green ribbons. Carefully, she powdered and painted her face lightly.

"Whoa, you look like a princess!" Robbie was awed by the transformation in Natalia. He bowed. "Your coach awaits, my lady Natalia…" he said. He took her hand and kissed it lightly. D'Eon had dressed his best to accompany her. Robbie, as always, looked like a roguish dandy.

"Sir, it is up to her now," Robbie said quietly when they reached the palace gates. Natalia was escorted in by the liveried guards while her companions were consigned to waiting outside the gates. It seemed like hours. D'Eon paced about uneasily.

"There is no use fretting," Robbie said finally in English. "If you want, you could try climbing over the fence. If not, I suggest a little stroll in the park. Natalia could find her way home herself."

So D'Eon found himself at the park. It was a lovely place with well-kept gardens, a lake with swans and a band playing music. Young soldiers lounged about on the autumn leaves with their sweethearts. Families picnicked under the autumn sun before the winter chill came. He was transported back to the happier days of his childhood when his sister and he gambolled about in the autumn leaves until their nurse summoned them indoors. Robbie had attracted the attention of a stray dog and was engaged in a game of fetch.

Then he spotted them. Maximilien Robespierre's lackeys. Cagliostro and Lorenza strolled by. They had clearly risen up in the world. Their clothes were of a pricey cut. A large gemstone ring glinted on Cagliostro's right hand. Lorenza wore an emerald necklace and matching earrings. Strangely, he did not spy Robin nearby.

"Robbie…" he hissed.

"Can we keep him, Sir D'Eon?" the young man laughed as he tumbled about with the stray dog. It was a large russet-coated beast of unknown pedigree. D'Eon acknowledged that it could make a fine hunting hound but now was not the time to pander to Robbie's desire to add a dog to their party.

"No. We need to go…"

"Aw, I could use him to hunt rabbits…" Robbie sounded like a young boy, almost like Robin did when he was tired from their hard journey and wanted to rest. He looked pleadingly at D'Eon.

"Robbie, we must go. He probably has an owner…"

"Hunting time…" Robbie spotted the well-dressed pair of Cagliostro and his woman. "No," D'Eon tried to grab the youth but he was off. The dog trotted behind him. Robbie passed the pair closely. He swiftly relieved Cagliostro of his purse and strolled back to D'Eon without batting an eyelid. Oblivious, his victims climbed into a waiting carriage.

"Robbie, you shouldn't steal…" D'Eon chided.

"He's a charlatan. I have been hearing tales of him. How he claims to be a magician of sorts. If he has found the elixir of youth, why does he have wrinkles on his face? If he has the power to conjure jewels from air, why does his lady wear a necklace of green glass?" Robbie said in English. "Thankfully these are real," Robbie held out a gold coin from the purse. "Count Cagliostro is a fraud. Let's get back to the palace."

* * *

When she finally emerged, Natalia was silent. She stopped to pat Robbie's new canine friend from the park but did little to acknowledge her uncle or Robbie. The ride back to their lodgings was a silent one.

"Uncle, the Empress wishes to speak with you," Natalia announced the moment she shut the door behind her. "You are to meet her tomorrow, but not at the palace. The Empress will attend an opera at the opera house and you are to meet her there…" she pressed a ticket to the opera into D'Eon's hand.

"Natalia, what have you done?" D'Eon asked.

"Nothing. The Empress liked my fiddling and we started chatting. I told her about your travels with the Secret d'Roi, which King Louie XVI has disbanded," Natalia continued. "She may want to recruit you as a spy." D'Eon dropped his spoon in shock.

"The Empress is asking the wrong man for the job," Robbie chuckled. "Sir D'Eon hasn't a devious bone in his body."

"I did recommend you as a pragmatic knave who would work for the highest bidder but she preferred Uncle D'Eon," Natalia said as she undid her hair ribbons and shook her hair free. The raven-haired boy made a stricken sound. Natalia giggled mischievously. It was going to be a long sleepless night for D'Eon.

* * *

All too soon it was seven in the evening. It was time for him to set out for the opera house. "Good luck, sir," Robbie shook his hand when D'Eon threw on his coat at the front door. "We're counting on you," the youth squeezed his hand. "Even Wallace here," he patted the stray dog which had followed them back to their apartment. D'Eon rolled his eyes. _Terrific._ Now he was really nervous. Natalia watched from the window as he strode in the direction of the opera house.

"I hope all goes well…" Natalia whispered. She glanced over her shoulder to the grimy mirror on the wall. _All will be well._ Max's words floated on the dirty glass. She wiped them off with a corner of her sleeve as Robbie and Wallace came bounding into the room.

D'Eon's ticket allowed him a seat in the opera house but his attention was on the royal box. The Empress of Austria was a tall woman of generous proportions. Her wig was heavily powdered and towered on her head, emphasising her height. She had the poise of one born into royalty, a cool dignified presence to be admired from afar. D'Eon was well aware that her children had married from and into the highest houses of nobility and European royal blood. She had borne fifteen children and outlived a few of them. Now widowed, she co-ruled the empire with her son and heir, a disaffected prince who made no secret of his chafing at his mother's stern hand.

At the interlude, D'Eon made his way towards the royal box. The audience were distracted as they chatted with their companions. Ladies of dubious repute touted for custom along the velvet curtained hallways. A young woman smiled at him coquettishly and placed her hand on his arm but he waved her away. Only a lone pageboy lingered outside the royal box. He had been expected. The lad opened the door for him and bid him enter.

"D'Eon de Beaumont. Come forward," the Empress nodded at him with a smile. She was alone. D'Eon bowed before her. "It is hard to imagine that a member of the Secret d'Roi would be reduced to poverty. That child told me it is for your honest nature that you were dismissed from the French court." There was a twinge of amusement in her tone. "Do you still consider yourself a citizen of France, D'Eon? Or an Englishman?" the Empress lapsed easily into English. Maria Teresa was well-educated and spoke several languages in addition to her native German and French.

"I am still a loyal subject of King Louis…"

"Hush," the Empress pressed her fan to D'Eon's lips. "Mademoiselle Natalia described your company as citizens of the world. She is a poet, isn't she? For all her young age. And you are her guardian. We do have our spies in others' courts… Don't fret. What we are about to ask of you will not cast any stain on your loyalty to France or harm your friends in England. Truly, we would have dearly loved to send our own to solve this most unusual problem. There has been a spate of attacks recently, attacks which may require a poet to stop…"

D'Eon started. _Could it be gargoyles? _Lorenza was in the city. Robin and other poets could be too. Could Natalia be in danger?

"We will provide you and Natalia with letters. You are to leave for Wolfsenburg as court musician and her convalescent kinsman. Whether that servant boy will accompany you I leave to your discretion. You will be quartered with Count Frederick and his sister, Lady Johanna. They will be unaware of your true reasons for being there…"

"Which are?" D'Eon asked hoarsely.

"To investigate the disappearances and deaths of a number of men, women and children in the area. They first started three months ago. Wolf hunts were carried out by the count with little result. The vanishings and deaths only increased. As a former spy of Louis XV, we have faith in your wit to secretly investigate this matter and if necessary, deal with it discretely. Lord knows after that business with the vampires last year I do not wish for any panic among my subjects." The Empress stood up and glided over to the door. She whispered something to the pageboy, who nodded. The boy motioned for D'Eon to follow him.

Following the boy, D'Eon found himself taken through the building and out into the street where a coach waited. A heavy purse was pressed into his hands. "If you accept the Empress' request, take the coach and this purse. Equip yourself and your friends for the task ahead. If not..." the pageboy spoke in halting French. He paused to blink away a tear. "Oh, please say you will stop the beast who killed my sister!" the boy cried out.

"Your sister?" D'Eon blinked. The child, barely in his twelfth year, nodded. "My sister was lady-in-waiting to Lady Johanna. She was snatched by the beast on her way to the church two months ago. I couldn't save her. It was so quick. It was like a great black wolf, but nothing I have ever seen. No, it was no wolf, but the devil himself. We gave chase with dogs and hunters, even the count… She was found much later… Like the others found, she had been torn to pieces…"

"Tell the Empress, I will accept her request."

"Please catch my sister's killer… stop the killing…"

"I will," D'Eon hoped he would be able to keep his promise. "Did not the Empress send out her own people to investigate? May I speak with them?"

"It is not possible, sir. Alas, they are all dead or vanished," the boy whispered fearfully. "I am not to tell you that… do you need me to drive you back to your lodgings sir?" he hastily changed the subject.

* * *

"What? You have us signed up for a wolf-hunt? But you don't even hunt rabbits!" Robbie exclaimed when D'Eon had related his plans. "You can choose to continue thieving here and hang for it," Natalia replied tartly. "You do look awfully thin and pale, Uncle. A stay in a small mountain town would put some flesh on your bones," she gave D'Eon a little peck on the cheek. Robbie's canine pal Wallace let loose a triumphant bark and leapt up, slobbering over D'Eon and knocking him clean off his chair.

There were things he needed to prepare, with Robbie's aid. They would need proper weapons, pistols for protection. He would need to find out more about the attacks and disappearances. He could understand the young page's feelings. The sheer helplessness… like how he felt when confronted by the sight of Lia's corpse. There were others who had lost friends and family to the beast. He would need to draw on everything he had learnt on spy-work. If it were a poet behind this… Natalia reached out to pat his hand. "Do not worry. We'll be ready to face it…"

"Did you ask what happened to the others?" Robbie asked.

"Two were shot by accident while hunting, one took ill and died suddenly, one was found drowned. Another three fell victim to the beast while a last one simply vanished and they believe bandits got him."

"Do you get their names, Uncle?" Natalia asked. "I am going to perform with the orchestra tomorrow night at the ball. Perhaps I could find out more… from the Empress or her guests."

"I better go with you…" D'Eon added. "At least to the gates." Natalia was becoming more beautiful with each passing year. Hair like pale gold framed a pert little face with rosy lips and pools of turquoise for eyes. "I will be safe enough with the orchestra, Uncle. And I will not go off into dark halls…" Natalia smiled prettily. D'Eon waited until Robbie left the room. Wallace laid down by the fire.

"Natalia, has Max been communicating with you?" he whispered. "Max is doing well in France. He is a court scribe now," Natalia replied. "The king is still a spoilt brat and a moron…"

"Natalia! How could you? His Majesty Louis XVI is still our king."

"Well, Louis XV had mama killed, didn't he? Max told me that. _Place not your trust in princes,_ Uncle."

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks to those who reviewed. D'Eon and company are taking a little detour and they are crossing paths with Cagliostro and Lorenza.


	32. The Wood of Wolves

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

The crew of D'Eon, Natalia and Robbie are on their way to solve a mystery.

**Chapter 32 – The Wood of Wolves**

"_Autumn leaves falling… so softly…"_ Natalia's voice echoed in the crisp autumn air. Her violin laid idle in its case on her lap. Robbie joined in occasionally as he strung his fiddle. _"So come sit by my side, my dearest love…"_ He tried to lean his head on Natalia's shoulder, only to be thwarted by her moving away. D'Eon kept glancing out of the window at the trees. They were moving into the countryside. Wallace rested his head in D'Eon's lap and looked up at him longingly, snuffling his nose at his pockets in hope of a snack. D'Eon patted the dog's head absently.

"We're almost there, sir," their young guide called out. The page's name was Hans. The empress had ordered him to guide them to the town and assist them in whatever way he could. Robbie swore the real purpose of the page's presence was to keep them from running off with the empress' gold. Their coachman was a kinsman of Hans, a deaf-mute hulk of a man with a sullen manner.

The town was tucked into a small mountain valley surrounded by dark woods. A medieval castle overlooked the quaint little houses of the town. Wolfsenburg was an old place, steeped in history and folklore. It was clear that something was wrong. There was an atmosphere of fear overhanging the town. Still, the arrival of the newcomers had attracted attention. Village maids smiled shyly when they caught D'Eon's eye. D'Eon wondered which of the townspeople could be the next victims.

* * *

They had discussed it in secret late at night, away from the prying eyes and ears of the page and the coachman.

"The Empress has her own spies, her own knights. Yet this incident has claimed the lives of eight, one of which was her kinsman by marriage," Natalia explained. "The one who vanished was a former soldier, known for his loyalty. Only death would have prevented him from returning or reporting to the empress. We are strangers to the Austrian court. Better yet, we have you as an invalid patient, an excuse for coming to Wolfsenburg."

"There is someone in this mess who may be a poet," D'Eon said. He had experienced the gargoyles created by the poems first-hand. Moreover, Cagliostro and Lorenza were in Vienna. "We will need Hans to help. Our German is not that fluent and small towns like this tend to have a unique dialect," Robbie said. "Count Frederick has newly inherited the title and lands from his father. His dad was bitten by a rabid dog and died raving."

"Uncle, the man and woman who was with Max have been at the Viennese court. They had left Vienna shortly before we did," Natalia added. "Are they the same who once stood with the man called Maximilien Robespierre? The one with blond hair you told me about?" Natalia never referred to the late Maximilien as her father, although D'Eon had admitted to her he most likely was.

"Yes, they have been spotted in Vienna…" D'Eon admitted. Natalia nodded. "Max told me that Master Robespierre had them sent eastwards to the Germanic countries. Master Robespierre is no poet though he once held the Psalms as you did. He is a leader of the Revolutionary Brethren. There may be other leaders in the Austrian court. Empress Marie Teresa will not live forever. Her son will inherit and I bet there are members of the order within the bosom of the court here as in many others. But Wolfsenburg is not Vienna…"

* * *

Count Frederick was a youthful-looking man with a moustache that was unusual given the fashions of the day. Pale-haired and handsome, he was well-dressed for the apparently rustic surroundings and the interior of his castle was furnished elegantly as if it were in Vienna. The narrow windows of the castle allowed little light within and scented candles blazed brightly even in the day. He shook D'Eon's hand warmly enough and kissed Natalia's hand. He had the manner of a gracious host, eager to entertain his guests from Vienna and see to their comfort. "The tower room is bright and airy, I hope you find it to your liking…"

They were all assigned rooms in the tower, which offered a gorgeous view of the surrounding countryside. Hans and the coachman returned to their families in the town below. It was clear that in the bygone days, Count Frederick's ancestors ruled the valley as great lords. Cut off from Vienna by rough roads, Count Frederick probably ruled as his forbears did. A small barracks trained local foot-soldiers for the Austrian army. It was from this barracks and local tavern that the count had raised his hunting parties for the beast.

Lady Johanna did not greet them alongside the count. However, she did appear briefly at dinner. She was an invalid. Her ashen paleness only emphasised the darkness of her hair and the dark pools of her eyes. She hardly touched her food and excused herself from the table early on, leaving her brother to entertain.

There were three other diners and two empty chairs. The elderly gentleman was introduced as Doctor Simon Roth, a Jew and personal physician to the count's family for a good many years. He had been present at the delivery of Lady Johanna and the childbed demise of her mother. In fact, it had been the doctor who had dared to carry out the operation to deliver the baby after the mother's soul had departed.

The aristocratic gentlewoman was introduced as Lady Johanna's governess, Frau Ilse Muller. She looked down at the French over her pointed nose as if they were mere servants who should be eating in the kitchen with Robbie and other lesser beings. She spoke little and was disinterested in making conversation. The last was a young nobleman of Russian military background. He introduced himself as Major Sergei and was courteous to the newcomers. His otherwise handsome face was marred by an eye-patch over his left eye.

There was a familiarity to his features that disturbed D'Eon. Occasionally, he would catch the clean-shaven young Russian looking at him intently. _Had they met before?_ The Russian would always smile charmingly and turned to speak with the doctor or the governess. He was passing through and invited to contribute his experience in hunting wolves.

"I have heard terrible tales in Vienna of the beast… is there any truth to such legends?" Natalia asked their host as they were finishing dessert. The count froze, then recovered and smiled weakly. "Alas, my lady… it is true. We have had problems with wolves… Recently, we are plagued with a devilish beast… Do not fear. You should be safe within the castle…" It was clear from the look on his face that he was ill at ease.

"There are two other guests, aren't there? Who might they be?" Natalia changed the subject and indicated the two empty places set at the table.

"Count Cagliostro of Genoa and his lady wife. Unfortunately, the lady Lorenza is indisposed and the count is accompanying his wife as a loving husband should…" the count looked away nervously. It took all his self-control for D'Eon not to drop his pudding spoon at this revelation. They were under the same roof as the poet Lorenza.

* * *

Cagliostro was bored. "Are you done yet?"

"Shut up and eat your dinner," Lorenza replied tartly. The man was an idiot. She turned her attention to the limp form on the bed before her. Lady Johanna writhed and moaned. Lorenza increased the intensity of her chanting. _"He gives domination over the beasts of the land, the birds of the air and fish of the sea… for Man shalt be their master…"_Johanna's features eased into a mask of peaceful repose. She slowly opened her amber-gold eyes.

"_Count Stefan has passed on. His son is not keen on the ideals of the Order…"_ Cagliostro reported to Robespierre. He waited for the words on the book he held to shimmer and melt into new letters.

"_Try to persuade him. We need his family's aid…"_ the reply came. _"Lorenza's powers pale to those of Stefan of Wolfsenburg. If not the father, ask the son…"_

"_He is not a master of the poems and has no intention of leaving for Paris for his sister's sake. He will send gold and arms… should that be good enough, sir?"_

"_Do what you must. He has to be persuaded to come to us in Paris…" _

* * *

"Let me go find out more, please…" Robbie wheedled. "No, it is too dangerous…" D'Eon said. "Yes, only if you did not steal from our host…" Natalia replied. "I hear and obey, my lady…" Robbie kissed Natalia's hand and clambered onto the window sill. "Wait!" D'Eon called out but Robbie and already slid down the rope he had tied outside D'Eon's window. The black-haired youth now stood on the worn slates below. Natalia changed into her breeches and boots. She then tied a dark scarf over her pale gold hair. She took the rope in her hands and slipped down to join Robbie.

"Be careful," D'Eon said. "We shan't be long…" she waved at her uncle before they slid down onto a battlement. Like a pair of surefooted cats, they ran noiselessly along it until the shadows of the night hid them. Resigned to a long wait, D'Eon settled down in the armchair and took a book from the bookcase. It was a French translation of a Germanic saga of werewolves. After reading a few paragraphs, he wondered if they were dealing with a similar beast as in the old stories. All the attacks were sudden and in many cases, not witnessed. Those witnessed spoke of a large dark beast much like a monstrous wolf. Han's sister had been snatched on her way to church. Hunting parties turned up neither hide nor hair of the beast.

"Wallace?" D'Eon looked up as the hound padded over to the window. He sat down on his haunches and bayed at the rising moon.

He walked over to the full-length mirror and stared at his reflection. He was older now. Grey streaks were starting to appear at his temples. "Max? Are you there?" he asked softly. There was no reply. His nephew never spoke to him through that means.

* * *

"Count, you know your father's vow to the Order…"

"My father is dead! His vows do not bind me…"

"But your sister lives… we do not want anything untoward to happen to her, do we?"

"Is this a threat?"

"No threat, my liege. I'm only stating the facts. You need our expertise. Your father has, regrettably, failed to complete your education before his demise…"

The conversation died away as the counts moved away from the window of the drawing room. The eavesdropping pair of teenagers nodded and slipped back in the direction of their tower lodgings.

"So, so… the wheels of fortune turn again for the Voronstov clan," a dark shadow whispered in Russian as he lowered the spyglass he had been observing the teens through. Sergei grinned wolfishly. "Let the hunt begin." For now he would observe like the lynx watches the bird on the twig. Silent but deadly when he decides to move in for the kill.

**Author's Notes:**

A famous werewolf tale took place in France where women and children were attacked by and on occasion killed by a wolf-like creature. A local boy professed to be the werewolf responsible after making a pact with the devil. He was sent to the local monastery for life instead of being burned alive due to his young age.

Another French werewolf mystery is the Beast of Gevaudan, an unknown beast who attacked and killed men, women and children during the reign of King Louis XV. The beast was later shot and killed by a hunter, using a silver bullet in a chapel according to popular lore. The beast remains unidentified to this day despite being stuffed and presented at the French court. During the Revolution, the carcass was lost.


	33. The Beast

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 33 – The Beast**

Morning found D'Eon sleeping in. He was soon awakened by a commotion. Natalia and Robbie, with their hound in tow, burst in through hid door before he could shake himself awake. "Wait! I am not decent!" D'Eon yelped in alarm. He pulled up the blankets to his chin. Wallace took this as an invitation to a game of tug-of-war. The hound took the bottom end of the blankets and yanked it out of his hands, leaving D'Eon sitting in bed dressed in only his nightshirt.

"Nice hairy legs," Robbie grinned impishly. "You really should lock your bedroom door properly…"

"The bolt's broken," D'Eon complained. "Get dressed," Natalia took his breeches off the chair where he had left them the night before and thrust them at him. "There has been a death. The Beast has struck again… The major is already on his way there…" Her tone was solemn. "It was Han's grandmother. They say she was attacked when she went to draw water… Robbie, why are you lifting my skirts?" Robbie was on his hands and knees and lifting the young girl's skirt.

"I was wondering if hairy legs run in your family… Ow!" Robbie yelped as Natalia smacked him on the ear for his cheek. Wallace yipped and pounced on Robbie, licking him furiously.

D'Eon pulled the curtains round his bed and dressed behind them. He could hear Robbie, Natalia and Wallace arguing and barking away.

* * *

The corpse had been found beside the stone wall on the edge of the village. The old woman lived on the edge of the forest. Flies buzzed about the bloodied mess of her inner organs. Her throat had been torn out, her belly ripped open. Worried villagers hovered on the edge of her field, not daring to approach. The major knelt beside the body, pointing out large paw prints in the mud nearby.

"Wolf, definitely… We found a leg over there in the potato patch…" Sergei said aloud when D'Eon approached. "Natalia, stay back…" D'Eon felt his gorge rise. The count was there, a rifle in hand and dogs yapping and straining at the leash. Wallace sauntered up to the wolf-prints and sniffed. Sergei gently nudged the hound away with a booted foot. "Keep your hound under control, sir!" he chided. D'Eon seized the rope collar and yanked the dog away. Unfortunately, he slipped on a puddle of blood and landed heavily on the wolf prints. Sergei shouted a curse in Russian.

Wiping off the mud and blood from his coat, D'Eon rose to his feet. "You shouldn't be here…" Count Frederick exclaimed and looked past D'Eon's shoulder. It was Lady Johanna. The lady stood pale and shaking. She was wearing only a cloak over her nightgown. With her were Cagliostro and Lorenza. Cagliostro looked flustered, Lorenza angry. She was glaring at D'Eon. Wallace ran off at Robbie's whistle. The teens were standing with the other villagers outside the field.

"We will hunt down this monster! Take Lady Johanna back, before she catches a cold," Count Frederick ordered. He nodded at Natalia. The girl dropped a curtsy and walked over to the noblewoman. She smiled sweetly at Lorenza and Cagliostro as she took Lady Johanna's arm. She steered her in the direction of the castle. "Every able-bodied man and boy to the hunt!" Count Frederick shouted. There was a roar of approval from the townspeople.

"Sir, you should not be joining the hunt…" Robbie whispered to D'Eon. He had taken a rifle in his hands. D'Eon shuddered. He never liked the way a firearm recoiled in his grasp like a live thing whenever he fired one. Like his old master, he preferred the grip on a sword in his hand. "You're an invalid…" Robbie added. The raven-haired youth saluted him before sauntering off with the rest of the men. D'Eon was sure wolf-hunting was the last thing he had in mind. Wallace trotted at Robbie's heels.

* * *

D'Eon caught up with Natalia at the castle gardens. "You should dress in red… and wear your hair in curls… That way you will not be taken for a servant…" Lady Johanna said as she fussed over Natalia. The younger woman now sported a red flower in her hair. He noticed a smear of blood on the hem of Lady Johanna's nightdress. Had she stepped near the body? She turned away to cough into her lace handkerchief. Frau Ilse sailed towards Johanna. She spoke some words to her. The noblewoman nodded and walked away with her.

Natalia pulled the flower out of her hair and walked to join her uncle. "Sir D'Eon," Cagliostro called out as he approached them. "What business brings you here?"

"The kindness of the Empress and our host," D'Eon replied cautiously. "Did Robespierre send you?" The Italian shrugged. "Maybe…"

"You and your brat are way out of your depth," Lorenza snapped. Natalia's blue-green eyes flashed in anger. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from snapping back. With an icy smile, Lorenza sailed off in a mass of rich furs and jewels. Cagliostro followed on her heels. "You should have stayed in Vienna, de Beaumont." _Did the pair have something they were threatening the count with? What could that be?_ The youngsters had overheard some words exchanged between their host and Count Cagliostro last night… They would have to be on their guard.

"You should watch them, Monsieur…" a voice called out in French. It was Doctor Roth.

"You speak French?"

"I earned my medical qualifications at the University of Paris… I do not trust them…" the doctor whispered as he picked some sprigs from a plant and placed them in his basket.

"How did the count…"

"They were acquaintances of his father… Count Stefan died suddenly in summer. They say he took ill, shortly after they came. I did not attend him… away in the village attending to a difficult birth. When I came to his room, they had him sheeted. The funeral was conducted in haste, most indecent haste. Death was expected in the family, but not his…" the doctor paused and looked around. "I am telling you this because the Empress sent you, as she had the others… be careful…"

"Was it Lady Johanna's?" Natalia asked. The doctor dropped his basket. "I'm sorry… I can't tell you more…" There was fear in his eyes. "_Loup garou_…" He spoke the French word for werewolf.

"Doctor! You are needed in the village!" a servant hollered in German. "One of the men had an accident!" The doctor excused himself and hurried off. There was nothing to do but for D'Eon and Natalia to retreat into the castle. Natalia wandered off to explore the castle while D'Eon spent his time in the castle's library. All this while, they were aware of the shouts and shots echoing in the woods. Cagliostro and his wife spent the greater part of the day in the parlour with Frau Ilse and Lady Johanna. Major Sergei was with the count throughout the hunt.

* * *

The hunt for the beast was unsuccessful, but the count had shot a stag for the table, Robbie reported on his return. "It's a mess, sir. Guns going off everywhere… It's a miracle they don't shoot each other more often…"

There was venison at the dinner table, rare and bloody. D'Eon put down his fork after the second mouthful. The meat was too raw for his liking. The women clearly felt the same way too. Cagliostro had drunk deeply of the claret and was almost groping his wife, who firmly pushed away his advances before storming off in a huff. Frau Ilse slipped her venison to a large tabby that had sneaked into the room. Natalia concentrated on her potatoes. She offered to play her violin for their host after dinner.

"I've something for you, Johanna…" the count added as he toyed with his glass. A servant brought in a goblet on a silver tray. It was filled with blood.

"What is the meaning of this, brother?" Lady Johanna gasped "You know full well, sister dear… you have not been drinking your medicine lately, haven't you?" Frederick dabbed at a corner of his mouth with his napkin. "It is fresh from today's stag…" There was a cruel glint, almost feral in his eyes that unsettled D'Eon and Natalia. Cagliostro had passed out drunk on his dessert. Major Sergei watched on with a bemused smile.

"Sir… This is…" D'Eon leapt to his feet. Natalia placed a hand on his elbow to restrain him. Lady Johanna was quicker. She grabbed the goblet and flung its content at her brother's face. "Johanna!" Frederick bellowed. Frau Ilse firmly took Johanna by the shoulders. "I'll going to bed…" Lady Johanna yawned and shaking off her governess' hands, walked off. The governess followed.

"Play for us, little one," Count Frederick ordered. He wiped his face and shirt front with his napkin before excusing himself to change out of his bloodied clothes. "Play a little Russian ballad, milady… are you familiar with any?" Major Sergei asked. Natalia rose, took her violin and began to play. Music echoed eerily in the cavernous dining hall. She was into her third piece when there was another commotion. It was Robbie.

"Sirs! The doctor is dead. Some beast ripped out his throat as he stood by the gate. The porter's in shock. The count's with him. They say it is the Beast!"

* * *

The poor doctor was indeed dead. D'Eon and Sergei knelt by the corpse. Count Frederick was there with a torch and his hounds. He had not had time to change out of his stained shirt yet. Apart from a gaping bite to the throat that all but severed the head, there were no other wounds. Alarmed servants milled about. The doctor had been surprised from behind as he rang the bell. As an age-old practice, the castle gates were locked after sunset against bandits and animals in such parts. However, the once-heavy stone walls had been remodelled to allow more windows for light. It was through these grilles that the attack was witnessed. The porter, a wizen old man was witless with shock. There were massive paw prints around the body, which led away towards the bushes.

Taking a torch and a shotgun, the major followed the trail. He paused suddenly. "Look here, sirs!" There was a rush to where he stood pointing at the ground. The paw prints had vanished and were replaced by a mess of boot prints… There was something odd about them. It struck D'Eon immediately.

"They are unnatural. Look, the prints are side by side as if our werewolf were hopping with his feet together. If he had walked, they would be…" D'Eon noticed a look of alarm on his host's face.

"One after the other… so you also admit we are after the werewolf…" Major Sergei grinned. "It is too late and dark, we have lost the trail!" he called out to the servants. There was a murmur in the crowd. Someone yelled something in German so thick D'Eon could not make it out. "Look, you superstitious coots, he held the doctor in his arms after the attack… That's how he got blood on his shirt," Major Sergei growled. There was an immediate hush.

"Lady Johanna threw blood on him…"

"I know, but if I did not say what I did, the townspeople would have lynched them both… the people are fearful… it does not help that the count's family crest…" the major held the torch up so that D'Eon could see the weathered crest above the gate. It showed a pair of wolves. One held a fawn in its jaws while the other held what looked like an infant. "Master of the forest and glade. They are cocky of their hunting skills…"

A crude stretcher was fashioned to carry the doctor's body in and an arrow chest found for a makeshift coffin. Everyone retreated to their rooms once the shutters and gates were fastened.

* * *

"The count is fond of blood pudding and meat so red the blood drips from it…" Robbie reported later when he and Wallace joined Natalia and D'Eon in D'Eon's room. He had been "Likewise for the late count Stefan. The menfolk love hunting and bringing down game for the table… well, but the ladies of the family are ill-fated…"

"What do you mean by that, Robbie?" Natalia asked. "Well, the daughters of the family did not live long. They died within their first fifteen years of life," D'Eon explained, He had stumbled on a copy of their host's family tree in the library. Robbie nodded. "It is the circumstances of their deaths that intrigue me… I was chatting with the old cook over doing the dishes… She still recalls the count's aunts. There were three of them. First, they started craving for blood pudding and raw meats like their brother… The first died in a hunting accident. Broke her neck falling off her steed. The second fell down the well and drowned. The last one fell from the tower but did not die outright. They had her restrained in the old dungeons despite her injuries because she was all wild and howling like a beast. Bit all those who tried to nurse her before she finally succumbed. The women who wed into the family either went mad or fled for a convent… The late Count Stefan's mother fled for a convent."

"Where was Lady Johanna when the doctor was attacked?" Natalia asked. D'Eon frowned. "I believe Frau Ilse was with her… She was with us at dinner… then she went off to her room…"

"Is it possible for us to speak with this cook?" Natalia asked. "Drop by the kitchens for a piece of mince pie," Robbie shrugged. "Maybe she would take to you as well, Natalia… but Sir D'Eon… he will just stick out like a sore thumb unless we get him in an apron and dress…" Wallace yelped and licked D'Eon's face excitedly. "No," D'Eon replied. He was through wearing a dress.

* * *

In the kitchen, the cook rubbed her aching back and poked at the fire. She wondered if she had spoken too much to that young servant from Vienna. He was a foreigner and interested in the town's history. He did remind her of her own grandson, lost to the beast… "_I married a devil… he's not human, I bore wolves!"_ Count Frederick's grandmother had cried out from the gig that day when she fled for the convent… Everyone thought it was the deaths of her girls that set her off. Now she was not sure.

There was a howling that seemed to come from deep within the castle. The hounds whimpered in their pen. "Lord, please protect us…" the cook prayed. She should plant more wolfsbane in the gardens, to ward off the beast…

**Author's Notes:**

More mysteries and werewolves. Sergei is working as a friend with D'Eon for now.

Lycanthropy is a rare medical condition where sufferers believe they transform into an animal. In Europe and North America, this animal normally is a wolf. In Asia, it may be a tiger.

Robbie is indulging in a bit of below stairs gossip. I personally like my beef and venison a bit on the rare side. And blood is a food ingredient in many cultures. I draw the line at drinking liquid blood, though jellied blood tofu is nice in soups.


	34. Visit to the Priory

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 34 – Visit to the Priory**

The doctor was hastily buried.

A week passed without incident. D'Eon allowed himself to relax. He never liked hunting but their host clearly did. Count Frederick was often seen in his hunting clothes with his hounds, leaving the castle in the mornings and returning late into the evening with the bounty of the forest. Major Sergei accompanied him on his forays. Lady Johanna spoke with him and Natalia on occasion, asking about the latest gossip of Vienna, which Natalia was ever ready to regale her with. Natalia also told her stories about her years in England which made the noblewoman laugh. He tried to strike up an acquaintance with the governess without success. Frau Ilse's attitude to him was a cold as ever. Cagliostro and Lorenza ignored them, preferring to keep their own company or that of Count Frederick and Lady Johanna.

In the town, the mood was still tense. Days have been known to slip by before the creature made its next kill. Parents guarded their offspring and few dared venture out once the sun set. The nights were lengthening as winter closed in. Robbie worked in the kitchens, indulging in the gossip and rumours. He soon returned with a bit of news D'Eon could use. D'Eon seized it eagerly.

"Sure you don't want me or Wallace to come with you?" Robbie asked as he saddled D'Eon's horse. Natalia was entertaining their hosts with her violin after their morning meal. It was an opportunity to leave unnoticed. The horse whinnied uneasily. D'Eon stroked its nose.

"No, you stay close with Natalia…" If two horses were missing from the stable, their absence might be noticed.

"The priory is a bit off from the highway through the next…"

"I know, I better get going…" D'Eon accepted a water skin from Robbie and swung himself onto the horse. He was no fool regarding the risk he was taking. The pistol borrowed from Robbie could not stop a determined wolf at a distance and his aim was for the most part, shockingly poor. He had his rapier in his belt, just in case.

"Good luck then…" Robbie shook his hand before unbarring the gate. D'Eon was off. "God and St Francis watch over you!" Robbie tossed out his parting words in English. D'Eon chuckled softly as he recalled that St Francis of Assisi was the saint who had befriended the Wolf of Gubio in the legends.

Neither noticed Cagliostro and Lorenza watching the knight leave from a balcony high above.

* * *

"_It would appear that he is nearing the truth… he must be stopped. At all cost." _

Natalia crouched on her heels and hands as she eavesdropped outside the Count's study. She had sensed trouble when Lorenza walked up to the count in the middle of her performance and whispered something into his ear. Count Frederick immediately left the room. Natalia then completed her piece and excused herself from Frau Ilse and Lady Johanna. Her intuition was right. She slipped off to find Robbie.

* * *

D'Eon trotted at a steady pace as the road was uneven. Every shadow and rustle along the path promised some hidden menace. Fearful tales of the _loup garous_ lingered at the back of his mind. Evil or unfortunates cursed to take the form of a wolf and prey on others. There had been one such incident in his childhood. He vaguely recalled his mother holding them close as the soldiers searched the dark woods outside the city. _Had Lia been afraid then? Surely not… She was always fearless._

They caught a man, no more an ape than man. Skinned him alive before burning what was left at the stake. "He's nothing but a madman… not a werewolf," Lia had declared then after their parents brought them to witness the execution. He recalled Lia being smacked for her impudence. _"Stick to the path, D'Eon…"_ he could almost hear Lia's chiding voice. He pulled up the reins to stop his steed from wandering off the road. _"They are only men…"_

He had read of the region's werewolf trials. Entire families accused and burnt alive for consorting with the Devil. Normally these were the outsiders of the community. He was an outsider here, like the guests of count. Only the count's word stood between them and accusation. _Or was the count himself being accused of harbouring the Beast?_ Frederick had arranged the hunts for the beast after every attack. There were whispers about the count's ancestors. And their coat of arms. _The Blood, Our Right…_ D'Eon was enough of a scholar to make out the Latin inscription on the crest. And the wolves… _why such a beast for their herald?_ Wolves were loathed in France and Germany alike.

Yet there was the Russian tale Natalia told them one winter's night by the fireside, the tale of _Ivan Tsarevitch and the Grey Wolf_. It told of a wolf that assisted a prince in a quest. The tale spoke of the wolf's loyalty and cunning. _"There are two sides to everything. The wolf destroys livestock but he will fight to the death for his pack," _Sir William had mused on the character of the wolf after Natalia was done.

To D'Eon's relief, the shadows parted as the trees thinned out. Some lay brothers were dragging a pine tree along the road. A friar was preaching to a group of labourers as they rested from digging a ditch. The priory loomed ahead. A young sister was gathering kindling near the gate. D'Eon dismounted.

"Greetings, sister. I wish to speak with the prioress…" he bowed to the giggling novice. The girl nodded and scurried inside. D'Eon handed the reins to a lay brother. The novice soon returned. "This way please, sir…" she led him into the walled garden of the priory.

The aged prioress sat on a bench under a spreading oak tree. D'Eon saw the resemblance as he approached her. The aristocratic nose and chin were the same as the Count's. There was a bit of Lady Johanna in the arch of her brows. The prioress was after all, their grandmother. She looked up at him placidly and closed the Bible in her lap. "Madame, I wish to speak with you regarding Wolfsenburg…" D'Eon tried his best to be gentle. His words struck something in the prioress. The book fell from her hands. A choked sob burst out from her. "Apologies, but I must know…" D'Eon pressed.

The elderly dame composed herself and reached for her handkerchief. "We best come away to the parlour…" she suggested and slowly rose to her feet.

* * *

"You say my son Stefan is dead?" she let loose a sigh. "It has been years since I have news from them… since my husband died… I cannot forgive him, even now, for what he did to my daughters…. Pray tell, how did Stefan die?" The parlour was warm and cosy, used for entertaining the rare visitor to the priory.

"They say he was mauled by a mad dog and died suddenly…"

"They lie! I believe the truth is that he was killed by a werewolf… I saw my daughter turn into one. Lord help me! She became as a wolf, claws, fangs and fur… Her father killed her. He thought I wasn't there but which mother would lie abed while her child is wounded and ill? I saw him and Stefan turn into wolves and attack her. My husband tore out her throat. I believe Stefan was most likely killed by his own pups…" the nun fingered the rosary beads in her hand. "Leave Wolfsenburg, young man… if I had yet to take my vows to God, I would have given you poison for them."

"Do you really believe that, madam?" D'Eon asked. The venom in her voice shocked him.

"Yes. I believe that they are more beast than man. I believe that Stefan and his children hunt the night as wolves. My Stefan always loved to hunt, even at night when all decent men keep indoors. He would go out alone and on foot… even in the dead of winter when the wolves are at their worst," the prioress looked deep into the hearth as if seeing some past vision. "It is late, you best be on your way before darkness falls…"

* * *

Darkness was already falling when he neared the town of Wolfsenburg. To make matters worse, a light snow was starting to fall. The going was slow. D'Eon pulled his cloak tighter about him and shivered. He wondered what Natalia and Robbie were doing at the castle. He shook his head as an image of Robbie and Natalia romping about in the stables popped into his mind unbidden. Robbie could never get his way with Natalia, not with the methods he used on the milkmaids back home in England. Natalia had proved that more than once… Or was she playing hard to get like her mother did with her suitors? D'Eon swore to remind Robbie of his place as a servant, at the point of a sword if needed, should the impudent rascal think of seducing his niece. He dug his heels in and spurred his steed on.

The rustling of dead leaves was the first hint of trouble before a large white shape leapt out at him, knocking him off his horse. The panicked steed neighed, reared and galloped off into the snow. D'Eon hastily fought to get to his feet. He reached for his pistol but the beast was swifter. Fangs slashed his forearm. The pistol fell into the snow. D'Eon drew his sword but the beast leapt out of reach. His boots were starting to sink in the deepening snow drifts.

A large white wolf glared at him with pure malevolence. Its huge paws padded easily on the surface of the snow, circling D'Eon through the trees, waiting for an opening. Blood flowed freely down his mangled arm. His grip on the hilt was weakening. He had lost his cloak in the tumble from his horse. D'Eon felt faint and cold. He was losing too much blood. The wolf knew that too. Snarling, the beast launched itself at D'Eon's throat…

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon is alone in the dark woods and facing down a large wolf. Is this the end for our hero?

Who is the werewolf? D'Eon just got bit… maybe there might be another werewolf in town if Hollywood is right. The being bit by a werewolf turns you into a werewolf is a myth cooked up by the movies and penny dreadfuls. The traditional ways of turning into a werewolf is being born one, sleeping in moonlight or wearing a magical belt.


	35. Capture of the Beast

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 35 – Capture of the Beast**

"D'Eon!" It was Robbie's voice. A hunting horn sounded, echoing through the trees. There was a burst of fur and fangs as Wallace launched an attack on the white wolf, thwarting its attack on the stricken knight. In a flurry of snow and fur, the wolf and dog snapped and tore at each other. Robbie slid and ploughed through the drifts to D'Eon's side. Tossing his horn aside, he fumbled loading his rifle.

There was a yelp of pain as the wolf seized the hapless dog by the throat and flung him hard against a tree, snapping his spine. Robbie raised the rifle to his shoulder, aimed and fired. The recoil knocked him off his feet. The bullet went wide. Having incapacitated the hound, the wolf returned its attention to D'Eon and Robbie. Robbie grimly raised his rifle again.

D'Eon caught a glimpse of violet and blue in among the trees. "Lorenza…" D'Eon recognized the woman standing among the trees. At her side was Cagliostro. In an almost trance-like state, she lifted her arms.

"_Be lifted up, ye everlasting doors; and rejoice as the King of glory shall come into your presence. Who is this King of glory?The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. In his temple doth everyone speak of his glory. The Lord sitteth upon the flood; yea, the Lord sitteth King forever."_

Robbie screamed as a pair of large ravens mobbed him, trying to gouge out his eyes. His rifle flew out of his hands into the snow. The knight charged at the birds, with his sword raised. "Robbie!" There was blood on the front of his shirt.

"My eyes! The damned birds…" Robbie groped in the snow for his rifle. Near blinded by the blood running into his eyes, the boy was helpless. The white wolf circled ever closer. There was no time to be unwary. D'Eon tried to beat off the ravens with his good arm. Lorenza continued chanting. The wolf closed in for the kill.

"_Bloody and deceitful men shall not live out half their days! The Lord will give strength unto his people; the Lord will bless his people with peace!"_ Natalia's voice rang out strident and fierce. D'Eon could detect the other voice behind hers. _Max._

In distant Paris, Robespierre watched his charge recite the psalms Milien's blue-violet eyes were dark and unseeing, as if he were looking into another space. For all purposes, he was. With a shrug, Robespierre walked over to the door and opened it a crack. "Camile, Francios, Milien is not feeling well… Go on without us," he called out to the young men waiting in the hallway.

With a flurry of snow and hooves, Natalia burst through the trees on a black horse. The suddenness of her charge was enough to knock the two Italians off their feet. The white wolf snarled and lunged at Natalia. Caught off-guard, she could only raise an arm to block its jaws.

There was a tremendous explosion. The wolf yelped and sped off into the snow. There was blood staining the snow. "Natalia!" D'Eon ran towards his niece. She was unscathed. Robbie had hit the wolf.

"Nice shooting, Robbie," Natalia pulled up her reins. Robbie wiped blood from his eyes and spat into the snow. He sported an ugly gash over his brow that was oozing blood down his face. The boy stumbled in the direction of the whimpering dog. D'Eon looked about for the poet and her companion but the Italians had fled. There was no sign of the wolf. He bound his arm with Natallia's help.

Robbie was weeping as he cradled his wounded dog. Wallace whined and licked him on his bloodied face. A defiant howl echoed through the woods. Robbie threw his hound across his shoulders and picked up his firearm. Natalia slid off her steed. "Uncle D'Eon, you best get mounted," Natalia urged as she threw a cloak about D'Eon. He was as pale as a sheet and almost fainting from the exertion and blood loss. Between them, Robbie and Natalia managed to get D'Eon into the saddle and lay Wallace across the saddle horn.

* * *

D'Eon and Robbie had their wounds cleaned and bandaged by Natalia the best she could with strips of linen. For the poor dog, there was little that can be done for him. Robbie wept as he took out his knife and put the dying dog out of his misery. "Leave me for a while… to bury Wallace," Robbie said. Natalia and D'Eon nodded. The lad needed time to be alone.

When they returned to the castle, they were surprised to see the servants blustering and running helter-skelter. "What happened?" D'Eon stopped the nearest servant, a comely chambermaid with her arms full of linen bandages.

"Oh, sir! It's the Count," the girl blushed at being addressed by such a handsome man. Major Sergei strutted up to them.

"It's no time to be harassing maids, Sir D'Eon. The count has been wounded in a shooting accident! Why are you standing there like a dumb goose? On your way!" Sergei barked. The maid quailed and hurried off. The Russian smiled at the French knight and his niece. "How badly is he hurt?" D'Eon asked.

"Shot in the shoulder. He will be sore for a while, once we get the bullet out… What happened to your servant's head?" Sergei asked. D'Eon had rolled his coat sleeve over his injured arm. Robbie had joined them, sporting a strip of bloodied linen round his head. "Ran into a low branch," Natalia lied on Robbie's behalf. "Do you need my help? I do know a bit of…"

Sergei waved her offer away. "Surgery is no job for a girl." The Russian major took a swig of brandy from his hip flask and walked off. "My uncle knows a bit of surgery!" Natalia shouted. "Is there a doctor with the count now or are you just flapping about like a flock of headless geese?" Natalia added in Russian.

"Your uncle looks as though he is about to collapse… Frenchmen are such weaklings… Must be the thin blood," Sergei sniped back in French. "Pompous Russian jackass…" Robbie muttered in English. "Natalia, Robbie, that is quite enough…" D'Eon coaxed. He was in no state for an argument or any surgery, even if Sir William had on occasion talked him into attending a medical lecture during his time in London. Doctors did make more than tutors but D'Eon just lacked the stomach for it. He had no inclination of going into the medical profession.

"We've got Doctor Rhenus from the town. Seven parts drunk and three parts sober but he would have to do…" Sergei shrugged and walked off.

"Odd, ain't it? I blast that wolf in the shoulder and the count's shot in the shoulder…" Robbie whispered. Natalia nodded. "But the wolf that attacked us was not the beast. Witnesses say the beast is a black creature," D'Eon recalled. They were walking towards D'Eon's room. A figure glided out from a corridor into their path. It was Lady Johanna.

"Sir?" she enquired hesitantly. "Oh, you are hurt…" she reached out and touched D'Eon's wounded forearm with her long slender fingers. D'Eon gasped at the touch. She was a beautiful young woman. Her eyes were like mesmerising pools of darkness with golden amber flecks in their depths. She smiled at him. Natalia kicked D'Eon lightly in the shin, breaking the spell.

"Your brother has been wounded, my lady," Natalia announced. "Oh my!" the stricken lady gasped. In a rush of silk and velvet, she hurried in the direction of her brother's room.

* * *

By morning, D'Eon burned with a fierce fever. The fever raged for two days before breaking on the evening of the third day. D'Eon awoke and weakly opened his eyes. "Lia?" he blinked his eyes. No, it was not Lia. It was his niece wiping the sweat from his brow. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked. Robbie's wound had scabbed over enough for him to go without a bandage. "Two days and nights," Natalia replied as she changed his pus-stained bandages.

"The servants are too busy seeing to the count. The governess and Lady Johanna have not left his side since. Cagliostro and Lorenza have cooked up some weird concoctions and are selling them to the peasants claiming it would keep the Beast away. Turning up a tidy profit too," Robbie reported. "No attacks by the creature as of yet. As for the Russian major…"

"Has our knight recovered?" Sergei announced his arrival by pushing the bedroom door open. "I was going to ask if you need the services of a gravedigger but I guess my concern is misplaced. Lady Johanna enquires after your health…" the major walked over to D'Eon's bedside before anyone could stop him. He lifted D'Eon's injured arm. "I was a bit of a surgeon back in the army. These wounds are made by the fangs of, let's say, a wolf? Nasty things." Sergei smiled and walked over to the window, throwing it wide open to allow a blast of snow and icy air into the room. D'Eon trembled involuntarily in his thin cambric shirt.

Natalia cursed loudly in Russian and dashed over to close the window. Sergei made use of this moment to smack her across the bottom. "If you're going to cuss like a serving wench, you can be treated as one!" Natalia gave an outraged yelp of surprise. Then Robbie threw his knife at Sergei, who deftly blocked it with a book. "You got to improve on that before you can impress any lady, boy!" Laughing, he left the room, returning the book to D'Eon and the knife to Robbie. "Beware the one who comes with gifts!"

* * *

"It seems an awful waste…" Robbie chided. "After all, the sourpuss governess did get the cook to make you this beef soup…" His deprived childhood had taught him to cherish every scrap of food. "Sorry, I'm not hungry…" D'Eon lay back on his pillows wearily. Natalia had left in a bit of a huff after Sergei's teasing.

"More for me then," Robbie took the half-filled bowl off to the kitchens. As winter drew on, the servants' meals were becoming more meagre due to the losses in livestock suffered thanks to the Beast. There would not be a pig slaughtered until Yuletide.

Left alone, D'Eon closed his eyes. His eyelids felt oddly heavy. He thought it may be the aftereffects of the fever.

He did not know when he awoke. He only knew it was late and dark. He saw a ghostly flash of pale hair leaning over his bed. "Maximilien?" _No, Maximilien did not sport a moustache. _He was aware of something warm splashing over his chest. It tasted like copper… Confused, he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Morning finally came with bad news. "Uncle! There has been an attack! A servant- oh! Robbie, shut the door!" Natalia screamed.

It was her scream that roused D'Eon. He saw rusty red splashes on his nightclothes. Puzzled he sat up. _Had he tore open his wound as he slept? _There was too much blood. The front of his shirt was torn. His front was drenched in blood. Then he saw the severed leg lying at the foot of his bed.

"A maid servant was mauled last night. The beast attacked her within the castle. Took off her leg…" Natalia explained. "Someone's trying to set us up!" Still struggling to make sense of what was going on, D'Eon washed his face the best he could with the water in his bedside ewer and dressed.

"Seems we found our werewolf…" Cagliostro announced. "Damn!" Robbie cursed under his breath. He flicked out his knife and dashed at the Italian. But he was quickly disarmed by two burly manservants.

"Lock them in the dungeon!" Count Frederick ordered. Something clicked in D'Eon's still-hazy mind. _He knew who set him up. But why?_

"The Beast was here before they arrived from Vienna! They could not be with the Beast!" Lady Johanna shouted at her brother when they marched their captives to the dungeons. "I do what I have to do for the family and for you, Johanna," Count Frederick replied with an almost regretful tone. He tenderly brushed a tendril of stray hair from his sister's face.

"Free them then, Frederick… If they're from Vienna, they must be here to help capture the Beast…"

"I am sorry, I cannot…"

* * *

The dungeons were damp and cold. The mouldy straw provided did little to warm them. The men had been shoved down a flight of stone stairs and the trapdoor locked on them. Natalia had been shut in a smaller cell above them. It was only the faint light through this grille that illuminated their cave-like prison.

"If it was Count Frederick you saw, why would he want to set us up?" Robbie asked as he crawled about the cell testing every stone for a possible escape. "Because of his sister… I think I know who the Beast is," D'Eon sat defeated in a corner of the cell. Count Frederick would have done anything for his sister. Lady Johanna was the Beast. She was probably unaware of her actions as the Beast but her brother was fully and painfully aware. Those hunting accidents, the disappearing Viennese officials sent by the Empress. It all fell into place now…

He was also aware that Count Frederick was the white wolf who had attacked him and that he and his companions were in mortal danger. Count Frederick would not show any hesitation to kill to protect his sister. _If he were in the count's shoes, would he have done the same? Could he have killed to protect Lia?_

"Do they hang or burn werewolves, Sir?" Robbie asked. "They skin them, alive…" D'Eon replied. Count Frederick would probably give them a show trial which would end in his death at least. "Or he could just leave us here to die from starvation…" Robbie added. "It's been hours and no one has brought any meals… it's so cold."

Wordlessly, D'Eon draped his coat and an arm around the boy. He hoped Natalia was not suffering as much as they were. Robbie's lips and fingers were blue from the chill.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon as a werewolf? He is in deep trouble here, unless they can figure out a way to escape…


	36. Escape from the Castle

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 36 – Escape from the Castle**

Natalia studied her cell door intently. With a small smile, she reached into her boot. She silently thanked Robbie for his foresight. He had slipped a small bodkin into her boot that morning when they discovered the body of Hans' grandmother under the pretext of peeking under her skirt. "It is a precaution, my lady. In case, the beast lurks nearer than we think," he had said when she confronted him about it later. He was right. She could not expect to carry a firearm or sword within the castle.

Gritting her teeth, she set to work picking the lock with her needle-sharp bodkin. Robbie and D'Eon had no chance of retrieving their weapons before they were taken.

* * *

The rest of the castle was quiet. Count Frederick sat watchfully in his study. His sister meant everything to him, the last of their lineage. Some may call it a cursed lineage. He has done his part for the Revolutionary Brethren to honour his father's memory. Gold and firearms awaited dispatch. When 'Count' Cagliostro and his lady wife leaves… how would he continue maintaining Johanna's slipping sanity? Frau Ilse's ability as a poet was nowhere near theirs…

Locking his dear sister up was the last thing he wanted. The urge to hunt, to be free, to roam the dark forests was the very essence of their souls. Yet no female of their line had managed to master the hunger that threatened to devour their humanity. Johanna was too gentle. His wounded shoulder ached. He had not counted on that young manservant and the girl interfering in the woods. The Frenchman should have died then, his throat ripped out and his corpse left for the wolves and ravens in the depths of the undergrowth. He growled, fangs itching. _No, he must control himself… _

The doctor was a mistake on his part. He had let his temper get the better of him. _Frau Ilse still remained loyal and unquestioning of his actions but for how long?_ No, Ilse was loyal to their family.

A shriek announced his sister was awake. Frederick leapt to his feet, fighting the urge to drop and run to her side on all fours. Johanna, wide-eyed with terror, burst through the door and into his arms.

"Blood… oh, so much blood…" she moaned and shuddered against him. "You were to help her!" Frederick snapped at the apologetic Cagliostro and his wife.

"Your sister's condition is most difficult to treat…" Lorenza replied tartly. "Your governess has no skill as a poet at all." It was true. Frau Ilse's strength lay elsewhere.

"Tell me, Frederick… am I the monster? I have dreams of blood and slaughter," Lady Johanna moaned and buried her tear-streaked face into her brother's shirt. The count soothed his sister with gentle words. Lorenza shrugged and left with Cagliostro on her heels.

"How long must we linger here?" Cagliostro complained. "The wine here is of poor quality and Major Sergei is an uncouth ape…Did you see what he did to me after he lost at cards?"

"That was because he caught you cheating… Never mind, we will be on the road by morning. The count will most likely hang our French friends and send his sister off to some asylum where they will keep her locked up…" Lorenza replied. Robespierre had sent his new instructions. They were to leave for Paris. The pair did not notice Frau Ilse hidden in the shadows. The German poet murmured a soft curse and stepped in the direction of the dungeons. It was time to check in on their French guests.

* * *

"_D'Eon?" _D'Eon opened his eyes. To his surprise, his sister stood before them. A soft glow surrounded her as she glided over to him. She nodded at him. "I must be dreaming…" D'Eon murmured.

"Maybe," Lia replied. Another shade appeared beside her. This one was not a welcome sight. Maximilien Robespierre, the man who betrayed France. "He is the man I love, D'Eon," Lia said as if she sensed his discomfort. Silently, Maximilien Robespierre took Lia's hand in his. "Stay away from Versailles, D'Eon," Lia warned. Her tone was as if she were talking to that rash teenager he was so long ago when she first left for the court.

That did it. "I am stuck in a dungeon waiting to be mostly likely flayed alive and you are worried I may be returning to Versailles?" D'Eon exclaimed.

"You'll get out of this little problem, D'Eon de Beaumont," Maximilien said wryly. "Someone will be coming for you soon. If you must go to Versailles, keep our daughter away from that cursed place."

"You were the one who got Lia with child and if you had not turned traitor…" D'Eon lashed out to hit Maximilien. With a world-weary sigh, Maximilien caught D'Eon's arm in his hand. "You're wasting time and effort…"

"Sir D'Eon, wake up!" Someone was shaking him. D'Eon awoke to Robbie shaking him. "You were talking in your sleep about Versailles and all that rot… Gosh, you've torn open your wound again." The boy was right. Blood was oozing through his sleeve. His arm felt numb and cold as if it had been gripped with a claw of ice.

Someone was at the trapdoor, casting a shadow into the cell. D'Eon shifted uneasily. Flaying was not a pleasant way to go. Robbie smiled. "You don't seem to be worried," D'Eon remarked.

"Well, Miss Doris told me my fortune once… I am to hang in chains till the birds pick my bones clean. Since they don't hang werewolves…" Robbie finished with a shrug. There was a flash of golden hair at the bars. Natalia bent down and tried to pick the lock. The two prisoners below got to their feet and hurried to the trapdoor.

"Told you that bodkin will come in useful…" Robbie grinned.

"Hush, I can't pick the lock…" Natalia replied.

"Give me that," Robbie took the bodkin and drove the point into the keyhole. There was a dry click and the trapdoor gave. Reunited, the trio stood on the stone floor.

"The stables, we have to leave…" D'Eon suggested. "We need weapons first," Robbie added. "Never mind that!" Natalia chided. Her voice boomed off the stone wall.

"Sh!" D'Eon hurriedly clapped his left hand over his niece's mouth. "So you have escaped without my help," a woman's voice announced in heavily-accented French. In a swish of skirts, Frau Ilse hurried down the stairs.

"What are you here for?" Robbie asked suspiciously. He raised the bodkin in his hand as if it were a dagger.

"I came to apologize… I did not know what he had planned…" the woman bowed. "I came to free you before it is too late. You were meant to die."

"So it is true. Count Frederick is the wolf? And perhaps the Lady Johanna too…" the French knight asked. The woman nodded. "Go to the stables. I will get your arms," she added and hurried off.

"Can we trust her?" Robbie asked. "What if it is a trap?"

"We will have to risk it," D'Eon replied. Natalia frowned. _"Beware those who bring gifts..." _Major Sergei had warned. _Had the Russian be referring to Frau Ilse?_ She had brought the soup up to her uncle and that soup was most likely drugged. They had no time to ponder that now. Natalia hitched up her skirts and ran after her.

* * *

Sergei watched bemused as three shadowy figures scampered across the courtyard. He lifted his rifle and aimed. Yes, he had a clear shot from the parapet where he stood. If he had a mind to, he could pick them off one by one. He held his fire and waited.

"Frau Ilse? Take Johanna back to her rooms…" Frederick looked up at the governess' entrance. He ran a loving hand through the raven-dark tresses of his sister as she slumbered with her head pillowed on his lap. "The prisoners will be leaving us. Have you any wishes with regards to this, my master?" Frau Ilse bowed.

"Send them on their way as you see fit. But first, I must return my sister to her rooms." Frederick deftly cradled his sister's limp body in his arms.

"As you wish, Mein Herr…" the governess retreated from the room.

* * *

They expected the guards to come thundering anytime. Robbie had readied the swiftest and sturdiest steeds in the stable and the youngsters had mounted. Only D'Eon remained. Instead, they were only greeted by the sight of the governess slipping out of the kitchen door with their weapons in hand. With a smile, Frau Ilse offered the weapons to D'Eon, who instinctively reached out to receive them.

"Merci," D'Eon thanked the governess. Natalia spotted a glint in the woman's eyes. "Uncle D'Eon! Get away from her!" she screamed. The warning came too late.

D'Eon's right hand closed on his sword and a sharp pain shot up his arm. Their weapons had turned into a red-hot mess of molten metal. The pain caused him stagger and fall on his rear. Yelling in agony, he dropped the molten lump but he knew the damage had been done. He plunged his wounded hand into a pile of snow. Meanwhile, the governess had turned into a human torch.

"Burn in hell…" the woman whispered as tendrils of flame licked at her flesh as if from within. With blackening arms, she reached out to pull the mounted teens from their saddles. Robbie pulled his reins. His steed reared and kicked, knocking her off balance. He brought the hooves crashing down on the governess. Taking her cue from Robbie, Natalia joined in trampling the now-smouldering corpse into the snow.

"She-devil, I liked my rifle!" Robbie slipped off his horse to deal the blackened skull a kick. Natalia was more concerned with her uncle. D'Eon's hand looked bad. There was little she could do but bind it up with a strip of fabric torn from her dress. The frightened horses neighed and shuddered. Natalia cooed soothing words into their ears and stroked their noses to calm them.

"Hullo there! If you're going hunting tonight, best take a gun," Sergei called out, surprising the party below. Frau Ilse's actions had caught him by surprise but he could not help admiring the English lad's presence of mind in turning his steed against the poet. "That was some good horsemanship, lad. Take this!" he allowed his rifle and powder horn to fall over the parapet. It landed on the snow near Natalia, who regarded it with caution.

"Take it, my lady. It wouldn't bite," Sergei laughed as he strolled off in the direction of his room. "Good hunting to all, de Beaumont," he tossed his words over his shoulder as an afterthought.

There was a thunder of galloping hooves. "It would appear your guests have urgent business in Vienna," Sergei shrugged as Count Frederick came running at that unwelcome sound.

* * *

Milien yawned and pored over the Duke's letters. Master Robespierre was busy drafting a petition for the easing of the bread tax. Duke Louis Philippe of Orleans had not seen his new wife since he came back from the palace in a foul mood. The monarchy was imposing more taxes. Milien was not too pleased with what he had observed in Versailles as well. Etienne, innocent young knight, was responding to the queen's flattery where he should not. Sir Rochefort had noticed that too and had given Etienne a talking to, which the redhead captain apparently chose to ignore. Milien had to admit he did feel a fondness for the Rocheforts. He would hate to see them in trouble.

He became aware of the Duchess peering mouse-like at the door. Oddly, it reminded him of how Charlotte used to peer at him when Madame Roland was teaching him and Camile their letters. "Sir, it is late… Leave these letters to us," Milien placed his hand on the duke's shoulder. He nodded slightly at the door as the duchess drew away, ashamed at being caught.

"Oh," the duke coloured. "Very well… Goodnight, gentlemen…" he left the study.

"Milien, what was that for?" Robespierre asked. "I thought His Highness could use some time to enjoy the company of the duchess… while it lasts…" Milien replied and pulled out the book of Psalms from its hiding place in the duke's study table. It was a wonder the psalms had not called out to the duke at all. Perhaps something had indeed changed after all and the Psalms were no longer favouring the royal family, not even the duke who had felt so much for the masses.

"What about you and Charlotte?" Robespierre asked. Charlotte's feelings for the blond clerk were getting more obvious by the day. The girl had tried to win a place in the duke's household as a maidservant. Madame Roland had intervened and packed her off to be apprenticed to a dressmaker. Charlotte reminded him of Lady Anna in her all-encompassing love and admiration of Milien. Heaven knows that lad was cold towards her. Robespierre wondered if that was something that happened to all girls when they fell in love. _Had Yvette ever been in love with him?_ Thinking of Yvette brought an ache to his heart.

"No. It will be less pain for her that way," Milien shook his head sadly.

"Madame Roland and her husband are in the city. Jean Paul has taken lodging above the Defarges' tavern," Robespierre told his charge. "The time is nearing."

"Not only that…" Milien closed his eyes and pictured his sister, uncle and their manservant racing through a winter-cloaked forest. His uncle held his injured hand in his coat and clutched the reins with his good hand. Lia led while the manservant held the rear with his rifle.

"You know, Duke Louis Philippe would make a wise king… and the duchess is a sensible lady unlike our spoilt little Austrian princess," Milien playfully spoke of treason. "God grant him grace…"

"We are done with God-graced kings, Milien…" Robespierre chided in a whisper.

**Author's Notes: **

Looks like D'Eon and Natalia have escaped. But have they? Is Sergei going to remain their ally for now?


	37. Flight and Seek

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 37 – Flight and Seek**

The hue and cry was raised. The twinkling of torches in the distance informed the escapees that their pursuers were rallying. So horsemen would be hot on their heels. Natalia pulled up short. The trails all looked alike in the darkness. _Were they going around in circles?_ She was unfamiliar with the woods. D'Eon was almost falling from his saddle from the pain in his wounded hand. It took all his strength just to keep his grip on the reins. Robbie's steed pranced nervously. Natalia dug in her heels and took the right fork in the trail. D'Eon and Robbie followed her closely.

_Were the torches nearing or going away? _To their horror, they realised they had ridden in a circle and were now dangerously close to the town. Natalia whirled her horse round on the narrow trail.

There was a stray shot that flew over their heads. Shouts broke the silence. Robbie's horse stumbled in a rabbit hole covered by a thin crust of ice. Robbie tumbled agilely off as the horse fell, narrowly escaping being crushed by the beast. Dusting himself off, he ran to inspect the damage done to his steed, mindful of the flailing hooves.

"Leg's broke," he hissed grimly. The beast whinnied and thrashed in its distress and pain. The commotion had drawn the attention of the townspeople. "Get on!" Natalia urged, patting the saddle behind her. They could not leave Robbie behind.

"Leave! I will slow you down!" Robbie shouted and waved them on. "No way!" Natalia leapt off her horse. She slapped it on the haunches. The horse thundered off into the woods, neighing wildly. Her uncle did the same. Robbie shot his maimed horse in the head, ending its suffering. The trio ran into the undergrowth. Robbie grabbed a branch and swept away their footprints in the snow.

Moments later, a knot of townspeople came by. They stopped at the dead horse. Sergei stooped down to inspect the hoof prints of the remaining horses. "They went that way!" he shouted and waved the others on further up the trail. The Russian took his horse by the reins and shouldered his shotgun thoughtfully before turning back towards the town in the dim moonlight.

D'Eon bit down on his lip to keep from screaming as Robbie backed up against him, brushing against his throbbing hand. They were in a small gully. Natalia cautiously felt her way forward. It was dark. There was only a weak crescent of a moon to guide their way. The howling of distant wolves heightened their fears. It was with relief that he heard Natalia's voice.

"We need shelter… there's a water mill over there…" Natalia whispered. It was some distance from the town and they should be able to hide there for a bit.

* * *

They were in a flour mill. Sacks of flour were piled up high against the walls. D'Eon could not help but flinch at the sight of his hand when the crude bandage was peeled back. The flesh was raw and charred in places. "Looks a bit sore, doesn't it?" Robbie's words were a gross understatement. Natalia had taken some icy water in an old wooden bucket from the nearby brook. She gingerly cleaned the burns the best she could. The wounds on his forearm had stopped bleeding. Still, there was a risk that he could lose the use of his right hand.

"Uncle, I could use the poems…" his niece suggested quietly when Robbie was busy peering out through the shutters. The distant shouts and yelping of dogs hinted that the hunt was still on.

"No, don't," D'Eon shook his head. The idea of his niece using the poems still unsettled him. Natalia shrugged in reply. She tied a fresh strip of linen from her skirt around his hand and forearm.

Robbie cut open a sack of flour and kneaded dough from the flour and water. "We can't bake," he said as he patted the dough into a flat cake. "The bread will be a little rare." He handed the dough to D'Eon. "You need to keep up your strength. So don't come on with that thou-shalt-not-steal stuff."

"Come on, Robbie. Go back and- hush!" Natalia hurriedly pushed the young man into the shadows just as the mill door creaked open. It was Hans, the pageboy from Vienna. He was not alone. The trio hid behind a stack of flour sacks.

"Don't know why you would be interested in my cousin's flour mill, sir…"

Count Frederick stepped into the mill behind the boy. He sniffed the air as if catching the scent of prey. "I know you are there, so you can stop hiding and we'll get this over with." His moustache twitched as if he were nervous. When he failed to receive a reply, he cocked the handgun in his hand and casually aimed it at the boy's back.

"Chevalier D'Eon, you have a choice of showing yourself or watching him die," he called out in French.

Raising his hands, D'Eon emerged from his hiding place. "I'm here, let him go. He has nothing to do with this," he announced. Natalia and Robbie quickly and silently made use of this distraction to shimmy up a dimly-lit ladder to the rafters.

Count Frederick gave Hans a shove out the door. The bewildered lad stumbled out and the count shut the door behind him. "Now, where are your companions?" he asked.

"You were the wolf that attacked me on the way back from the priory… The real Beast is Lady Johanna, isn't it? Does she know what she has done?" D'Eon asked. There was a gunshot and the bullet brushed past his cheek.

"Yes, guilty as accused. We are a cursed lineage. My sweet innocent sister. Am I to kill her because of this curse?"

Then there was a dull thud as several sacks of flour fell from the loft, right on top of the count. Robbie leapt down from the rafters and wrested the handgun away from the count.

"You know nothing! My sister…" the count cried out. There was an unearthly howl from outside. "Lord, no! Let me go!" the count shouted as Robbie grabbed his arm. "I must stop her, before…" His words were drowned out by a scream outside the mill. The count tore his arm free from Robbie's grip and ran out.

D'Eon ran out despite his injury, but Natalia was swifter. She seized Robbie's rifle and aimed it at the dark monster savaging the page. But she did not fire it. A burst of fire erupted from the trees. The beast let loose a scream and fled into the woods. "See to him!" Natalia shouted and ran to the page. She thrust the rifle to her uncle.

Trying to keep the rifle steady in his good hand, D'Eon looked about. Count Frederick was nowhere in sight. There was a flash of white between the trees and a distant howl of a wolf. Frederick had gone off after his sister.

"Why didn't you shoot, you wretched girl?" Sergei barked as he emerged from the trees with a knot of local hunters in tow. Han's leg was a bloodied mess. Natalia pressed down on the wound trying to staunch the blood. "Tie up his leg, you goose!" the Russian shouted. While some of the men held rifles at the ready, others busied themselves fashioning a litter and binding Hans' wounds. Sergei's shot had inflicted a grievous injury to the beast. There was a severed paw near Hans. The Russian major plucked it from the blood and mud.

The paw transformed into the form of a human hand. It was a slender woman's hand with a lovely emerald ring on the little finger. There was a murmur among the townspeople who had been drawn by the commotion.

"The Lady Johanna's ring…" a laundress exclaimed. "She got it from her mother… could it be?"

"If the lady's the werewolf, where's the Count?" a young boy asked. There was no time to linger. The major shouted out orders that where readily obeyed. A hunting party would go after the wounded beast. The rest would return to their houses where Hans could have his wound treated. The cloud of suspicion had lifted from D'Eon and his companions. However, there was no joy in D'Eon's heart. He glanced off into the shadows of the woods and wondered how Frederick and his sister were faring.

"You're useless with that bad hand…" Sergei said to D'Eon. "Go back to the town and get a doctor to treat it." He patted the Frenchman on the shoulder good-naturedly and took the rifle from him, passing it to Robbie, who had just emerged from among the hunters. He raised his hand in salute to them before rallying the hunters and hounds.

"He knew we were there…" Robbie whispered. "I went to peek at the trees where they were. They have been there for a while… The mill's upwind of there. I guess they were watching us…" he shuddered. They had come dangerously close to being killed if Sergei and the hunters had decided to fire the mill or shoot them down in cold blood. At this rate, he could never meet his mentor's expectations. _How could he protect Natalia if he had allowed such a threat so close to them? _

* * *

The town's doctor shook his head when he saw D'Eon's hand. Hans the page fared better. His wounds should heal if he does not die of the wound fever first. The boy was lovingly tended to by his family. "I would recommend taking it off at the wrist if it goes bad… I will prescribe a salve of lambs' fat for the burns…" the doctor murmured. "All else I could suggest is to pray." A crude sling was fashioned for D'Eon's arm.

_What if his hand never healed? What if he lost it? How would he ever fence or even write?_ He would have to use his left hand and D'Eon was right-handed. He would have to cope somehow. But he needed to work to feed and care for Natalia. He couldn't tutor if he couldn't write with a decent hand. Teaching fencing would be out of the question.

A kindly widow offered to put the French and their servant up under her roof. There was no way they could allow their guests to return to the castle, she said. Natalia noted that her eye was on her uncle's handsome looks. Robbie wasted no time in chatting up the merry servant girl who worked for the widow. D'Eon was solemn throughout their evening meal. The hunters returned with nothing to show for their efforts. Sergei commandeered the local tavern next door for the hunters. The men would spend the night there with their arms at the ready in case the beast should appear. The townspeople chose to stay with their neighbours in the sturdier houses in the centre of the town near the castle.

* * *

It was late and cold but D'Eon could not sleep. Clumsily throwing on his clothes and pulling on his boots, he quietly slipped past a snoring Robbie. He had to go out. He stepped out into the yard, just as someone stepped out of the tavern. D'Eon's breath caught when the man turned slowly towards him.

"Voronstov!"

Then D'Eon saw it was Sergei. The shadows cast by the torches from the tavern gave him the appearance of a beard and moustache. His cap was pulled over his eye at a jaunty angle, covering his eye-patch.

"So you have figured it out… de Beaumont. You do realise, that we have a matter of honour to settle with regards to my departed uncle. He was a true knight of Russia," Sergei rested his hand on his sabre hilt menacingly. D'Eon fumbled clumsily for the sword at his waist before he recalled that he was unarmed.

"Relax, I don't fight duels with crippled men," Sergei bellowed with laughter.

"Leave the children alone," D'Eon said quietly.

"I do not duel with women or little boys…" Sergei added. "Perhaps when you have recovered the use of your sword hand we can settle our scores in the manner of knights…" he spun round to face the tavern wall and began to relieve his bladder. D'Eon was about to return indoors when he caught sight of a faint gleam of light in a castle turret. He walked instead towards the castle. No one should be there now.

"Where are you off to?" Sergei asked. "You can't go unarmed!" D'Eon continued walking.

* * *

In the castle, Frederick cradled his sobbing sister by the faint light of a candle. Lady Johanna's wrist was bandaged stump. Her dress was in tatters and her hair dishevelled.

"Please kill me… I don't want to become that monster…" she sobbed. All Frederick could do was to hug her close and coo soothing words in her ear. He loved his sister, but he could not understand why she lost her awareness in transforming into a beast of the woods. He enjoyed the hunt but he always kept some part of him that was human inside the wolf._ Why else would he have planned so carefully otherwise to frame the Frenchman and try to trap him in the mill?_ He had not expected his sister to stumble onto the boy Hans. No matter what happened, he would protect his sister.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon has figured out who Sergei resembles. Things look grim for D'Eon now with a possibly crippled hand.


	38. Death of the Beast

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

I am rounding up this little side arc for a while.

**Chapter 38 – Death of the Beast**

"You Frenchies are an odd bunch…" Sergei complained softly. He did not have to tag along, but D'Eon refrained from telling him so. He hated to admit it but an extra pair of hands was welcome_, if they belonged to a friend_. Going alone was risky and he did not want to rouse Robbie. "Do you really trust me to watch your back?" Sergei asked. "You could have dragged that lad of yours out of bed. I may just decide to blast a hole in your back, you know." Sergei shouldered his shotgun.

"You wouldn't. Or we wouldn't be having this conversation now," D'Eon gritted his teeth. He had taken a pistol but he needed help from Sergei in loading it and he wondered if he could manage a proper aim with his left hand. He couldn't expect Robbie to risk his young life tramping about in a dark castle after something which might just be nothing more than a will-o-the-wisp.

"If you do, sir, you will find yourself in a similar situation," Robbie's voice warned. D'Eon peered into the shadows of the alley. Robbie stood in an alleyway with a pistol in hand. Beside him was a hooded Natalia. "Go back to bed," D'Eon hissed.

"No," Natalia replied. Her tone brooked no opposition. She threw her cloak open to show a dagger tucked in her belt. D'Eon shrugged. Lia had passed her headstrong streak to her daughter. There was no use arguing once she got that look on her face.

* * *

"Milien?" It was the rustle of bedclothes that roused Robespierre from his sleep. He sat up and looked about the bedroom. His roommate and protégé was up. Milien stood trance-like by the table. He held the silver pocket-watch in his hand.

"It is cold," the redhead chided. The young man did not seem to notice. With his shoulder-length blond locks, Milien resembled his father from the back. Milien wore the powdered wig of a royal attendant whenever he accompanied the Duke to Versailles or on official duties. He often wore a cap when he went out with Camille and the other pamphleteers. It was rare for even Robespierre to see Milien with his own hair. The teen stared into the mirror hanging on the wall.

The redhead slipped out from under his blankets and walked over to Milien barefoot on the icy floorboards. He took down Milien's coat from the wall hook and draped it over the teen's shoulders. It was as if Milien were a million miles away. In all likelihood he was. Robespierre stifled a momentary pang of jealousy. Blood and kinship tied Milien to his sister and Sir D'Eon. Robin the page had no kin or family once Sir Durand, later Lady Anna and Queen Marie's deaths. Maximilien Robespierre was the one who left him his mantle and name. Yet Robespierre did not know him.

All, he could do now was watch and wait for Milien to return to him. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Robespierre waited. _The new loyalty… must be shown to Auguste…_ Those were Her Majesty's last words to Robin the page. _What had she meant really?_ Robespierre shook his head. Robin was gone, dead for a good many years.

* * *

The castle loomed before them now. The gates were ajar. Even the servants who lived within the castle had sought refuge with their kin and friends in the town. The place had an abandoned feel to it. Robbie trotted up the icy steps to the main door. He tested it. "Gotta pick it… or maybe not…" The door creaked open softly.

"Wait…" Sergei fetched a candlestick from a nearby table and lit it. He handed the shotgun to Robbie and stooped down to touch a dark patch on the carpet. "Blood…" he whispered hoarsely. Cautiously, they followed the splattering of blood, until they came to a bedchamber. Sergei gestured for them to stop. Gingerly, he pushed the door open.

It seemed empty. "Lady Johanna's room…" Natalia whispered. The bed had been slept in, the sheets awry. There was an overturned chair by the bed. Then what appeared to be a pile of bed linens at the foot of the bed moved with surprising speed. The linens fell back and a white wolf lunged at Sergei's throat with bared fangs. There was a stench of scorched fur as Sergei swung the candlestick at the wolf's muzzle. Robbie smashed the butt of the shotgun into the wolf's side, knocking him across the room.

"No! Stop!" D'Eon placed his bandaged hand on Robbie's shoulder before he could strike the beast again. The stunned wolf staggered to his paws and shook his head.

"He hurt Wallace. He hurt my dog…" Robbie hissed.

"Brother…" a voice called out softly. Draped in a nightgown and shawl, Lady Johanna ran to the wolf's side and placed her hand on his back. Her other hand was only a bloodied stump swathed crudely in bandages. The wolf spoke.

"Sister, you shouldn't be here…" In the blinking of an eye, Count Frederick was sitting on his haunches beside his sister. Still, he bared his teeth at D'Eon and the others.

"I understand you love your sister, but this all has to stop! Lady Johanna is wounded. She needs help…" D'Eon coaxed. At the same time, he motioned for Robbie and Natalia to stand back. The teens moved towards the fireplace in the room. Robbie handed his firearm to Natalia. He took out a flint to light a small fire in the grate for light. Sergei muttered a curse under his breath as he inspected his torn shirt. He had come close to being killed. D'Eon held out his hand to the siblings in a gesture of goodwill. "Come…"

"So she can be killed as a werewolf or locked up in some asylum?" Frederick hissed. "I think not…" He pulled his sister close against him. "Frau Ilse, Countess Lorenza… We have tried to hide the truth from her. My sister cannot face the truth about the beast, that she is the beast."

"I could not control myself… The blood… oh god, no…" Lady Johanna moaned and clutched at her shoulders. She trembled violently.

Before their eyes, she started to change. Her frame seemed to stretch and swell. Coarse dark fur burst forth from her skin. He face stretched and became a muzzle. "Johanna…" Her brother threw his arms around her as she writhed. Sergei shouted for the shotgun, but Robbie already had it trained on the siblings. D'Eon stumbled back in shock as the Beast howled and knocked Count Frederick across the room.

The Beast charged at D'Eon, who was the nearest to her. Sergei grabbed the discarded chair and used it to fend off the attack. "Shoot, you French dog!" he shouted at D'Eon. D'Eon fumbled with his pistol. He could not even hold the firearm steady in his left hand. In such close quarters, he could hit any one of his companions. Sergei leapt back in disgust as the Beast wrenched the chair from his hands in her jaws.

There was a crack as Robbie let loose with his pistol. He was off the mark. The Beast shook as if it were only a gnat bite. Robbie had to reload his pistol. D'Eon struggled to bring the pistol in his hand to bear. Sergei grabbed it from him.

The sensation was almost fleeting. Yet it was intense enough to cause D'Eon to shiver involuntary. _Someone was using the poems, but who was it? _D'Eon saw it in that instant Natalia raised the shotgun. Standing behind her, his hands over hers, was Maximilien, her twin. The boy's face was grim as he helped his sister aim the barrel of the gun squarely at the growling Beast. There was a tremendous boom, a flash of fire and acrid smoke filled the room.

Amidst the smoke, they heard the gasping last breaths and smelled the unmistakeable stench of blood. "NO! Frederick!" Lady Johanna's voice pierced the deathly silence. The smoke cleared and they saw her kneeling on the floor, cradling her brother's head in her lap. Frederick gave a raspy cough as more blood bubbled out of his mouth. He had thrown himself in front of his sister at the instant Natalia or Maximilien fired the shotgun. His chest was a gaping wound.

"Help him, please! Don't let my brother die…" Lady Johanna pleaded. D'Eon looked away. He knew as well as the others that Count Frederick was beyond hope. "J-Johanna…" the count weakly gasped his sister's name and lifted a pale hand to her cheek. His eyes glazed over and his hand fell to the ground. Lady Johanna let loose a heart-wrenching wail of despair.

"Natalia, get up!" Robbie was roughly pulling Natalia to her feet. The force of the recoil had knocked her clean off her feet.

"Max?" Natalia glanced over her shoulder as if expecting her brother to be there. He was not. Then D'Eon spotted a new and imminent danger. Sergei had discarded the lighted candlestick when snatching the pistol from D'Eon. The candle had rolled into the draperies and the curtains were now aflame. "Fire!" he shouted and tried to beat out the flames with his coat.

"No time for that!" Sergei exclaimed and seized D'Eon by the shoulder. The fire was spreading too fast. "We must leave!" Robbie was already dragging and shoving a bewildered Natalia out of the room to safety.

"Lady Johanna!" D'Eon shouted. "You must leave!"

"No, let me stay…" Johanna replied as she held her brother's limp body to her breast. "Let me go with him…"

"Your brother would not have wanted that!" D'Eon argued. The fire had engulfed most of the wooden panelling of the room by now. "Never mind that bitch, you dolt!" Sergei yelled. The room was starting to fill with choking smoke. D'Eon's eyes watered. Someone, Sergei, grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him to the exit. Peering through the flames, D'Eon saw the Beast standing over Frederick's corpse. A mournful howl sounded over the crackling flames just as the thick smoke caused D'Eon to black out.

* * *

Sergei had long gone by the time D'Eon arose from his bed. It was the tolling of the local church bell that roused him. In the noonday sun, the solemn congregation filed out of the church. The townspeople were in mourning for their count.

"The major told them some tall tale about the count single-handedly trapping the beast and burning to death with it in the castle. He took off for Russia afterwards," Robbie nodded at the charred ruins of the castle. "He asked me to hand this letter to you… what's on between you and him? You don't strike me as a military man and the major ain't a gentleman type…" D'Eon took the envelope from the teen and broke the wax seal.

_Dear Chevalier D'Eon de Beaumont, if you ever regain the use of your hand and your legendary skills as a swordsman, be ever so kind as to come over to St Petersburg and settle the scores between the Voronstovs and de Beaumonts.- Major Sergei Voronostov. P.S. Should you ever turn down my request, you are a craven coward unworthy of being of the same blood as your sister. _

D'Eon tried to clench his right hand but his hand felt stiff. It would be a long time if ever he acceded to the major's request for a duel. "Robbie, prepare a coach. We will leave for Vienna…" D'Eon ordered. There was no reason for them to remain there.

"Natalia?" D'Eon peered into his niece's room. She was staring at the mirror. "You saw him, didn't you? You saw Max… Uncle, why did he not stay a little longer?" Natalia asked. D'Eon had no answer for that.

"I did not mean to shoot him, the count… or Lady Johanna…" Natalia murmured as she touched the silver surface of the mirror.

"I know," D'Eon hugged her as if she were a little girl. Maybe that was how he would always see her, as Lia's little girl.

* * *

In Paris, Milien yawned and powdered his wig. He would be accompanying the duke to Versailles for an audience with the king. "Is your leg still bothering you, Master?" he asked as Robespierre limped into the room. The injury he had suffered never quite healed. Despite Milien's and Lorenza's efforts, whatever poison had infected the redhead all those years ago still lingered in his veins. _Trust Jean Paul's gargoyles to come with a venomous bite and claws. _

Even Madame Roland had no solution to her colleague's predicament. "Perhaps you best kill him," she had said tartly when he asked her for assistance. Madame Roland never liked Master Robespierre much. The last time he was in Marseilles, the Rolands were sheltering a number of young girls indoctrinated with the ideals of the revolution. Madame Roland was convinced that her boys were not achieving their ideals soon enough, but beautiful girls of good quality, wedded to men in positions of power…

Milien's reverie was broken by Robespierre's voice. "Mil, your raven-haired admirer is in the street below."

Charlotte waved cheerfully to Milien when he poked his head out of the window. Milien smiled. Charlotte Courday was a petite young woman. She wore a dress that flattered her slim figure and raven tresses. "How did you know I'm here?" Milien asked. He had just moved lodgings recently.

"Camille told me. Do come over to my store some time, we have some gloves which will suit you…" she replied coquettishly.

"I'll consider…" Milien replied. "Maybe next week…" Charlotte pouted at his reply.

**Author's Notes:**

This is the end of the werewolf arc. Sergei is letting things rest for now. I will be shifting the focus to Milien and Robespierre/Robin for a while.


	39. Petit Trianon

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

The focus will be on Milien and Robespierre (Robin) for a while.

**Chapter 39 – Petit Trianon**

"_It will be up to you to make time move forward, Robin…" the older man smiled and patted him on the head as he looked at the silver pocket watch. NQM. To restore the balance. "Durand… Don't go…" He reached out to grab his hand, stop him from leaving… To no avail, every time Durand would simply smile and slip out of that damned door and into the dark English streets beyond. _

_The mean room would melt away and he would be in the Queen's apartments in Versailles. "Your Majesty…" Always, he would kneel and she would reach out to him. "Robin, please show my Auguste the new loyalty…"she always seemed so sad._

_Then he was at the bridge. "Robin, please…" Lia, or maybe D'Eon, stood at the top of the stairs. "The Psalms… It's still not too late…" The fog swallowed her up and Maximilien Robespierre, the man whose name he had taken, would be by his side despite the gaping wound in his chest. "Let me show you the shape of your vengeance, the future of France…" _

Master Robespierre awoke with a start. "Master?" Milien looked up from his book. He was back after a trip with the Duke to Versailles.

"Maximilien?" Robespierre queried. The boy looked a bit like his father with those blond locks of his. However, the violet-blue eyes were a lot softer than those of his sire. His features were also not as sharp as his father. Instead, they were as androgynous as his mother's. Or his uncle's for that matter.

"Master, whenever you call me by that name, it means that something is bothering you," Milien replied. "Don't worry about the duke or Versailles for now. Everything is going well. The duke's influence at court is growing. Though he is not of the king's inner council, he is well-liked by the generals as well as the people."

"The queen dislikes him because he spoke of her mother as a manipulator who uses her children as political pawns, which is true in a way. He has no common interests with the king, besides music…" Robespierre corrected. He rose from the chair he was drowsing in. "You are sixteen now, Mil. I understand that you have been hanging out with Camille the pamphleteer, Francois the medical student with a death mask-making wife and a sweet young lady named Charlotte…"

"Master!" Milien exclaimed.

"I understand from Camille's yapping that you and Charlotte spent an enjoyable time in a crypt under Notre Dame Cathedral cuddling up the other day…"

"I was trying to… Well, talk her out of her crush on me… She is a good girl and Madame Roland has affianced her to an army captain…"

"Camille's married, so is Francois…" Robespierre started. "We should consider your marriage."

"Would you have married Yvette, sir?" Milien asked point-blank. "If I told Charlotte… Mind you, it is kind of hard trying to convince her I'm not interested when she's so darned passionate…"

"So against your better judgement, you ended up making love in the crypt on top of the cardinal's casket…"

"It wouldn't happen again, sir!"

"If it had been the duke paying his respects to his uncle the cardinal instead of Francois yearning to poke about that corpse for his wife's death masks, you would have lost your post in his house. By the way, the queen's lapdog sent a letter. Charlotte's outraged fiancé challenges you to a duel." Robespierre retrieved the letter from his desk.

"Ah. Etienne has volunteered to be my second. I better get my sword out then," Milien ran his fingers through his hair. Etienne was a naïve fool at times. "Try not to kill him. We need the army on our side…" Robespierre warned.

"Very well, I shall cease after slicing his tendons and lobbing off his ears," Milien yawned. "I meant stop after drawing first blood. And for goodness sake, you know duelling is illegal, so be discreet about it…" Robespierre added.

"Naturally, sir. I will refrain from inflicting too much damage unless he decides to press home the issue," the youth laughed. Robespierre sometimes wished Milien would be less cavalier about such issues.

"Can't you let that redhead captain of the guard duel on your behalf?" Robespierre asked. There was no real need to advertise Milien's prowess with a sword so soon. Poems could be used to good effect to control the outcome, if needed.

"Nope. The queen would be upset if her favourite guardsman gets so much as a scratch," Milien replied. "I expect Madame Roland is furious…"

"She has already been here. Charlotte's being sent out of Paris to her foster family for a while, least she tries to poison her fiancé or worse. Captain Bonaparte is not exactly desirable husband material, but Madame Roland would probably send another more obedient bride his way."

"He may be an uncouth ruffian, but perhaps in the future France would be run by those of his kind," Milien closed the book of Psalms he was reading wearily. "The sons of peasants may rise to be emperors while the born nobility of the Earth cower."

"What did you see in the Psalms?"

"The same as you and perhaps a bit more. The absolute monarchy will fall but those of noble blood would return to reclaim what was deemed theirs from an upstart. The old respect and loyalties die hard. The Bourbons still have their kings in Spain and beyond French borders. Only if an heir turns down the crown will the French monarchy truly end and power pass fully to the people." Milien's tone was solemn as often was when he spoke of the Psalms.

* * *

The sun was bright for a winter's day but the air was chilly. The young men walked briskly towards the small chateau. It was one that brought back childhood memories for them both.

"Oh Lord! You didn't have to almost disembowel him!"

"I didn't. It was a mere scratch. First blood. Francois has his work cut out though," Milien laughed. The wounded man had squealed and thrashed like a stuck pig when the trainee doctor tried to stitch him up. The clerk casually wiped the blood off his sword.

"Mil, you have to pass me that sword… His Majesty has granted the _Petit Trianon_ to Her Majesty…" Etienne stopped and ordered the clerk. Milien should not be armed in the royal presence if the queen is in the chateau.

"So they are officially estranged? Will the heir to the throne be born with red hair?" Milien teased. "She is fond of you, captain, perhaps too fond…"

"Mil! That's treasonous talk!" Etienne exclaimed in shock. Still, the clerk noticed the way his friend's eyes looked away and his cheeks redden.

"Then you will not find enough rope in all France to hang all those who say that," Milien replied. "And the court will be depopulated…"

"You know, I first learned to fence here…" Etienne started, desperate to change the topic. Milien smiled. He knew of course. He was Etienne's sparring partner on more than one occasion. "My teacher then was a very good swordsman, and a very good man. He never gave up on me. But they have treated him unfairly…" the redhead continued.

"Where is this teacher now?" Milien handed his sheathed sword to Etienne.

"I heard from Sir Rochefort that he is in England. He writes once in a while, not too often… Nat has never written at all…"

"Sir Rochefort looks upon you as a son, Etienne. You should call him papa…" Milien felt a pang of regret as he took in the changed surroundings of what was once Lady Sophie's flower garden. The queen had installed a dovecote and several statues that depicted little cherubs and geese.

"I can't. My pa's in charge of the Bastille now. I feel that, well…" Etienne shrugged.

"Being jailer of the Bastille suits de Janiere's character better than being captain of the palace guard. Hark, here comes Her Majesty!" Milien quickly bowed low and doffed his hat. Etienne saluted smartly. The queen was casually clad in a lawn-green dress and orange shawl. Her hair was piled high on her head with an orange ostrich feather on top instead of a cap. A pair of young attendants hovered close by.

"Ah, here's my favourite knight," the queen twittered. "Come into my salon, I have a most curious piece I wish to show you… and this is?" Her eyes fell on Milien. "Milien, clerk to the Duc d'Orleans, at your service, your Majesty," Milien replied.

"You may come with us…" the queen added coolly. Marie Antoinette did not like the duke much, but his clerk looked presentable and mild enough.

* * *

"Look at this most curious tea set presented to me by the Swedish ambassador…" she showed the pair the samovar she had received. "Charming, is it not?" she batted her eyelashes almost flirtatiously at Etienne. The attendants had brought tea and small cakes as refreshments but the young men hardly touched them.

"Yes, Your Majesty…" Etienne replied. "I would like you to sing with me a song, to practise… His Majesty is always shut away in his forge with his boring locks. How about this one?" the queen pointed at an open page in her book. "Lettie, the piano please…" The attendants exchanged sly looks that spoke volumes as one hurried over to the piano.

"Forgive me, your Majesty… I'm afraid my throat is not too well…" Etienne fidgeted. It was clear to Milien that his friend wanted out.

"Forgive me, your Majesty… May I ever be so bold to offer my voice for your practise?" Milien ventured. "Very well then," the queen pouted slightly. "But don't leave just yet, Etienne… I would like to hear your opinion on my singing…"

* * *

King Louis XVI called out for his servant to bring a towel to wipe his brow. He liked pottering about with his locks and keys, it was so much more interesting that listening to the many complaints and petitions, or attending boring and awkward balls and functions with foreign dignitaries. As for the queen, he did not want to get married to her, it just happened. And as for children, he didn't really want to have any sad little child, neglected by his parents just as he was as a child. Thankfully, his union had not produced any heirs yet.

"We are still young, there's plenty of time for the stork to call," he would fob off the Austrian ambassador whenever he enquired on behalf of the Empress of Austria on the condition of her daughter. Louis Auguste also had his favourites among the ladies of the court. There was no shortage of willing girls ready to spend time in his company to better their husbands, fathers or brothers.

The Duke of Orleans Philippe was disgusted by his disinterest in the matters of state and his frivolous pastimes. "If you have time to spend with Madame Scarlett and her sister, perhaps you would have time to spend with Her Majesty. She is young and lonely, and naïve enough to seek company where she should not…"

His reply to that chiding was to send the duke back to Paris. The duke's clerk was still hovering about. That young man was a close friend of Sir Rochefort's son, the captain of the palace guard. "Your Majesty, I beg your pardon… Sir Rochefort wishes to seek an audience with you…" his chamberlain's voice broke his reverie.

"Show him in…" Auguste recalled Sir Rochefort as a white-haired old knight, almost a fixture in the court. He had done his duty on the battlefield under King Louis XV and never participated in any petty court politics. Simply put, he was almost invisible though he could be counted on as a voice of reason.

"Your Majesty. I wish to petition you…" the old knight went on his knees before the king. He paused in mid-sentence.

"To cut taxes? Offer some largess for services rendered? Speak up, Rochefort."

"It's regarding my son. I wish for him to be transferred out of his current post and away from Versailles…"

"Is this request from your son?"

"No, sir."

"I see no reason to relieve him of his duties at this point. He is a loyal and outstanding young man. There has been no reports of the slightest impropriety linked to his name. Leave me," Auguste replied.

* * *

Meanwhile in the Petit Trianon…

"Etienne, I do so wish you could be here more often…" the queen sipped daintily at her tea. "With all due respect, Your Majesty… My duties as captain of the palace guard…" Etienne apologised. He would see Milien shaking his head slightly.

"If only you were my personal knight…" the queen smiled and stirred her tea. "Perhaps I should ask his Majesty…"

"No!" Etienne blurted out before he could stop himself. "I-it wouldn't be proper…"

"Etienne… I love your company…" the queen sighed. She reached to take Etienne's hand in hers.

"You are the queen of all France, Your Majesty," Milien said aloud. "You have King Louis XVI as your lawfully wedded husband. Why should you be so eager for the company of a mere soldier?" He stood up and bowed. "Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but if you have the slightest goodwill to my friend, you would reconsider your actions. Indiscretion has, after all, ruined a good many good men of the court."

The queen went white, then red with anger. "The nerve!" she sobbed aloud. "Oh Etienne! Am I wrong?"

"No, Her Majesty is always right," Etienne placed an arm around her dainty shoulders. "Milien, that was uncalled for!" he shouted at the clerk. Milien only shrugged. "I have warned you… do be more discreet, for the sake of the crown. I will take my leave…"

Milien walked out of the chateau. As he did so, he whispered a poem._ "Let them not speak evil, let there only be praise… Blind their eyes and still their tongues let them see no evil nor speak ill…" _In doing so, he silenced the tongues of the attendants of the chateau and its guards. If there were any rumours about the queen's infidelity, at least they would not affect the good name of Sir Rochefort or Etienne.

**Author's Notes:**

Milien has sort of peered beyond the French Revolution and predicted the rise of Napoleon Bonaparte as well as the return of the French constitutional royalty. There were still French kings after the Revolution, until one king-to-be declined the throne unless the French did away with their tricolour flag (which was used during the French revolution) in favour of a white flag with the royal crest on it. This was unacceptable to the French so they kept the tricolour flag and did away with the whole royal institution.

The historical King Louis XVI did present a small chateau to his wife as a present (Petit Trianon). He also had an interest in lock-making. The stork did not call for the royal couple for a good many years, long enough for even the Austrian Empress to send her son over to make sure everything was well with his sister.


	40. Return to Versailles

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

It is back to France for our knight and his niece.

**Chapter 40 – Return to Versailles**

Milien loved to sketch, and he showed an astounding talent for it. Robespierre had to grant him that. He had come across a few of Milien's sketches in their rooms. There was one of Etienne kneeling before Her Majesty. In a fit of pique at Etienne's blind adoration of the queen, Milien had given the kneeling guardsman a curly dog's tail. The look on the queen's face was almost predatory instead of the vapid brainlessness normally credited to her. Robespierre chuckled. There was another of Robespierre dozing at his study table, spilled ink blotting into his sleeve. Behind him was a smiling Yvette, wraithlike, her hands placed tenderly on his shoulders. It was a bittersweet insight into what might have been.

The last two sketches bothered him. First was a sketch of their little group of revolutionaries at the Defarges' tavern. Camille and Francois were clearly drunk, stumbling over each other. Their wives tried to guide them in the direction of the door. The Duke Philippe was dressed in the clothes of a merchant as he waited at the door. Madame Roland and her husband sat by the bar, in discussion with the Defarges. Jean Paul, pox-faced and sullen, nursed his drink in a dark corner. Cagliostro and Lorenza were laughing with Robespierre, Milien and that young vixen Charlotte. It was the man standing behind this group of revellers that bothered him. The figure had one hand on Lorenza's shoulder and the other on Milien's head in an almost paternal gesture. That pale face was clearly Maximilien Robespierre.

He set that sketch aside and took a look at the other one. This one was a lone portraiture of a young noblewoman. It was unmistakably Lia de Beaumont, _or was it_? The features were much younger though similar. The hair was done in braids instead of the curls favoured by Lia. The fashion of her garments was more contemporary. There was a single word scrawled below: _Lia._

The redhead walked over to the window and threw it open. Cold air gusted in. Winter was starting to give way to spring.

The duke was still in effect exiled from Versailles. "They do not know the loyalty of the past is gone," Philippe had said bitterly. "The court cares little that the common man can barely afford a loaf to feed his starving children. All they care about is which jewels should be purchased for the next ball!" The duchess had been giving out free bread to the poor in Paris at Notre Dame every Sunday after Mass. The duke and duchess of Orleans were two of the few nobles acutely aware of the dire straits of the average Frenchman or woman.

"Sir Durand, is there any hope in the way forward?" Robespierre asked as he unclasped his pocket watch.

* * *

Spring was in full blossom by the time their coach started for France. Natalia glanced at her uncle. D'Eon had his crippled hand tucked into his coat pocket. The hand had healed but with tremendous scarring. When the bandages finally came off, the fingers and thumb were fused together in a claw. The doctors told him that he could not expect to use that hand for his sword or quill, ever. He set about trying to master the use of his left hand. Natalia had supplemented whatever payment he was granted from the Austrian court by offering her services as a violinist.

Empress Marie Teresa was ill with one of the many complaints of her advancing age. "I wish for you to bring a message to my youngest child," she had summoned D'Eon into her presence on Easter Sunday, a most unusual gesture for one who observed the Sabbath religiously. "I am too old to travel myself and this stubborn child has not listened to any instructions conveyed through the ambassador or her brother. I have written a letter in my hand which I trust you to pass to her directly… I do not wish for my personal correspondence to be read by some French clerk in the intelligence services and I trust you are a gentleman enough to respect my wishes."

The sealed letter now sat in D'Eon's coat pocket, waiting to be read by the eyes of an Austrian archduchess, now Queen of France.

"Forgive me, but I have no grounds to seek an audience with the queen."

"Ah, but you know Sir Michel Rochefort, do you not? And his red-haired son is the captain of the palace guard and has found great favour with my daughter. The Austrian court does have their own spies, though I often question their loyalty to me," the Empress laughed. "And you have the child, Natalia… I believe she would serve my daughter well as a handmaiden… my poor capricious Marie never had the sense to look out for herself."

Natalia had blossomed in the short time between their return to Vienna and now. She was no longer a gangly teenager but a young woman. The simple dress she wore flattered her youthful figure and her hair was dressed in a simple braid. Her neck was encased in a lace ruffle. Her blue-green eyes had gained the admiration of many young nobles in Vienna, much to her uncle's chagrin but she had not shown any favour for her would-be suitors. Robbie swore that at least dozen hearts were broken when they left Vienna.

Robbie bemoaned the lack of time Natalia had to fence with him between her duties as a court musician to the Empress and the many invitations from the nobles. Still, the wistful looks he cast in her direction did not go unnoticed by D'Eon.

"She is lovely, isn't she?" D'Eon whispered to the young man beside him.

"Yes, as pretty as a pair of pert ti… Yikes," Robbie bit his lip to stop his words from coming out. He glared at D'Eon. Natalia giggled behind her fan at his reaction.

* * *

D'Eon made a note to call on Sir Rochefort and Etienne before going to Versailles. _Do not go to Versailles…_ Maximilien and Lia had both warned him against that, but he did not see any harm in it. True, his emotions were mixed. He had experienced so much sorrow and grief there, but there were also pleasant memories of times shared with Anna…

"Will you call on Her Majesty in a dress, sir?" Robbie sniped. "Of course not!" D'Eon retorted. "You should put that hand in a glove or something, lest the sight of it scares Her Majesty…" Robbie added. D'Eon crammed his crippled right hand into his coat pocket.

His first stop on reaching Paris was to call on Sir Michel Rochefort at his Parisian townhouse. The valet showed them in to a haggard-looking Sir Michel, who greeted the de Beaumonts warmly. Robbie took off to check out the nearby stores, and D'Eon prayed heartily that he would refrain from practising his thieving skills there. Perhaps later, he could visit Anna's grave.

"My, Natalia has certainly grown into a fine lady," Sir Michel exclaimed. The girl shyly dropped a curtsey.

"Where's Etienne?" D'Eon asked.

"Her Majesty sent for him, again…" the old knight did not sound so thrilled. "She always demands he accompany her… come, take a seat. Mathilde, tea and cakes for our guests please." The housekeeper soon returned with the tea tray.

"Have you seen Robin or Max?" D'Eon dropped his voice to a whisper. The old knight shook his head.

"Not recently, I am afraid. The last I heard from the coffeehouse, Duke Philippe of Orleans has hired the lawyer Robespierre to help manage his properties and his clerk, some young one named Milien, has been involved in a duel with some chap from the army, over a woman too. I believe this Milien may be your Max. Lord, what happened to your hand?"

D'Eon placed his right hand into his pocket but the older knight was quicker. He took D'Eon's right wrist.

"He burned it real bad," Natalia explained. "He can't use his right hand to hold a quill, much less a sword."

"I'm learning to use my left hand… with practise I should be able to use it as well as I used my right…" D'Eon tried to replace his teacup on its saucer. "Oops, I'm sorry!" The cup tipped over and spilled tea all over the white tablecloth.

"The Empress of Austria has a letter for Her Majesty. We are to deliver it to her personally…" Natalia changed the subject to cover D'Eon's awkwardness.

"I will see if Etienne could arrange an audience on your behalf…" Sir Rochefort replied. No sooner had he spoken when the housekeeper announced the return of Master Etienne.

"Master D'Eon?" The red-haired guardsman blinked in surprise when he saw their guests. The young captain looked resplendent in his guardsman uniform. D'Eon could not help feel pride wash over him at the sight of his former student.

"Etienne, you have grown up," D'Eon remarked. The redhead nodded shyly. Etienne's eyes fell on his lovely companion. He did not recognise her. "My lady, pleased to make your acquaintance," he bowed politely, took Natalia's hand in his and planted a kiss on it. Natalia giggled.

"Please, Etienne… you may call me Nat. Have you been practising your fencing?" Natalia asked wickedly.

"Nat? You are Nat the pageboy who used to fence with me? But you're a girl?" Etienne's jaw dropped in shock. "Oh gosh, I fenced with a girl!"

"So? Girls can fence too!" Natalia stood and stuck out her chest, almost thrusting her lacy ribbon and corset-encased bosom at Etienne. The redhead blushed. Sir Michel roared with laughter.

"Takes after her mother, doesn't she?"

"Yes," D'Eon admitted. "She does."

"Would you like to fence?" Natalia asked Etienne with a challenging smile. "No, I can't fight a girl!" Etienne protested. "Will it be alright if I were Nat the pageboy?" the young woman laughed and tapped Etienne's cheek with her fan.

"Etienne, Sir D'Eon has a private letter for the queen from her mother, the Empress of Austria. Would it be possible to arrange an audience with Her Majesty?" Sir Michel asked his foster son.

"Yes, I will try my best!" the redhead snapped to attention. His eyes remained fixated on his childhood playmate who had inexplicably transformed into this graceful beauty in his parlour. "Perhaps you could show Natalia your horse…" Sir Michel suggested. Etienne nodded vigorously. Natalia was fond of riding and horses as a child.

As soon as the young people were gone, Sir Michel leaned over and plucked at D'Eon's sleeve. "D'Eon, perhaps we should consider tying your family and mine together. I trust your niece is yet to be betrothed?"

* * *

Robbie frowned when he saw Natalia exiting the townhouse with a handsome guardsman. The pair entered the stables next to the townhouses. "I take him out to the country for a trot once in a while…" Etienne brushed the mane of his gelding. "He is lovely and gentle…" Natalia smiled as she fed the horse a carrot. Robbie made a face as he watched from behind a large carthorse's stall. Jealousy was not a pretty emotion and one even he was not immune to. He forced himself to recall Natalia as a skinny girl with a knack for knocking him off roofs into haystacks during friendly fencing matches.

_Was she really that pretty? Yes. Too fair for some stick-in-the-mud noble fop. _Robbie swore to make a fool of Etienne, if opportunity presented itself. It would be nice to see the wind knocked out of the guardsman's sails.

A slight movement caught his attention. Robbie grinned impishly as he pounced on his prey. A harmless grass snake promised loads of fun and misery for a certain redhead. Sneaking up into the rafters, he inched along until he was above the oblivious redhead. He dropped the snake right on top of poor Etienne.

"I have German and Latin on Wednesdays and Fridays. Sir Michel makes sure I take my lessons ser- yikes!" Etienne leapt up as the snake fell on his shoulder. "Snake! Careful, Nat!" Etienne seized Natalia's arm and pulled her clear. He tried to trample the snake to the ground. "No! Let it go!" Natalia grabbed Etienne's arm to stop him from killing the snake.

"See, it's harmless…right, Robbie?" She grabbed the snake and flung it up into the rafters, hitting Robbie in the face. The raven-haired teen lost his balance, tumbled off the rafter and into a pile of hay. The confused snake hissed angrily and slithered to safety. Robbie moaned and rubbed his sore behind. "Etienne Rochefort, meet Robbie. Robbie, meet Etienne Rochefort. Now can we agree to be friends?"

The young men glared at each other like a pair of tomcats. Natalia rolled her eyes. _Boys!_

"Your horse is too fat…" Robbie patted the horse's flank. The horse whinnied. "Also, you need to have him re-shoed." Robbie knew his way with horses, having taken care of horses on the Wordsworth farm and on occasion, the de Beaumonts' steeds.

"So this is your stable-boy?" Etienne smiled. "He is rude for a servant."

"I'm not a servant. I'm Sir D'Eon's student too," Robbie protested. He straightened his scruffy shirt and dusted off his pants.

"But you don't have a sword. So you can't be a noble…" the redhead pointed out.

"Who says only nobles can use swords? In fact, I think you noble types are all hot air. You wouldn't last three minutes in a proper brawl…" Robbie clenched his fists to throw a punch. Natalia hurriedly intercepted his punch. Robbie was fully capable of holding his own in a fight and was likely to best Etienne, fairly or otherwise.

"Now, now… It is getting late… shall we get back inside and join uncle and Sir Michel? Etienne, whatever should we wear when we go to Versailles?" Natalia asked.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon is back in Paris and making plans to go to Versailles. Etienne and Robbie are going to be either very good pals or rivals for Natalia's affections. A possible Rochefort-de Beaumont betrothal could mean more complications.

This sounds like trouble for the de Beaumonts.


	41. The Royal Locksmith

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 41-The Royal Locksmith**

The de Beaumonts took up Sir Michel's offer of rooms at his manor house near Versailles while waiting for Etienne to arrange an audience with the queen. The queen was busy having her hair dressed, directing amateur plays in her Petit Trianon, or choosing new jewels. "You should just let me pass the letter to her, sir," Etienne suggested. "You know Her Majesty writes to her mother every week but the Empress only sends her word through the ambassador… I believe she will be pleased to receive a letter from her mother…"

D'Eon shook his head. He had promised the Empress he would hand the letter personally to Queen Marie Antoinette and he had every intention of keeping his word. There was also no telling whose hands the letter might pass through, even if Etienne tried to keep it in his possession before passing it to Her Majesty. Or whose eyes would read its contents.

There was another reason for the old knight's invitation. "Etienne, would you like to show Natalia the gardens? I believe the irises are in bloom…" Sir Michel suggested. This was a chance for the young people to get to know each better before any formal betrothal. The redhead nodded. Natalia and Etienne walked out into the flower gardens. D'Eon frowned when he saw that Robbie had taken up a position in the branches of an oak tree and was watching the couple like a grumpy cat. He prayed that the blunderbuss the boy was cradling was unloaded. It would never do for the lad to blow out the brains of his rival.

"Well, there is a tea party next Wednesday. We have an invitation," Sir Michel suggested. "However, this will be a costume party. You will need costumes to attend… do you still have that dress?"

"No. I am done with dresses," D'Eon closed his eyes. He could not afford a costume. If only Etienne could get him a brief audience with the queen… he did not wish to bring Natalia into the palace.

"I thought so. I've taken the liberty of preparing two old-fashioned musketeer outfits from the time of King Louis XIII," Sir Michel smiled. "They belonged to my great-grandfather and they should fit you with a bit of needlework from Mathilde."

There was a resounding boom and Etienne shouting. Alarmed, the knights rushed to the French windows. Etienne wore a very dead mallard on his head. Blood and feathers smeared his clothes. Natalia stared at her suitor speechless. Robbie nonchalantly strolled up to the pair. "Nice catch, captain."

"Lord! You could have killed him, Robbie!" D'Eon chided. "No, sir. I believe his skull is tough enough to withstand a goose," Robbie chuckled in English. He took the mallard in hand and swung it round so that it smacked Etienne in the head. This time, Natalia smacked Robbie on the face with her fan. She berated him soundly while he laughingly climbed back up the tree. "Get back here when I am speaking to you!"

Unnoticed by all, Milien watched the squabble from the shelter of a sprawling bush. His sister would make a good companion for Etienne, if they could get him away from the Queen long enough. The youth shrugged. He would prefer Etienne as a brother-in-law to the disreputable Englishman his uncle had seen fit to take on as a valet. He heard rumours that the raven-haired boy had wasted no time in charming the maidservants and shop girls in the neighbourhood. There were a few young demoiselles said to be eager to bestow their favours on him.

* * *

"Come riding with me today, Sir D'Eon," Etienne urged one morning. "Her Majesty will be receiving visitors from the New World and we should be able to get you in."

"Visitors from the New World? Some outlandish travellers?" D'Eon frowned at the notion of sharing the audience hall with some witchdoctor or savage.

"Well, not quite. An odd bunch of English colonists, a drab-looking lot but, well, they are like they have something more important in here…" Etienne patted his chest as they trotted along at a steady pace on their horses. "No wigs and their clothes are those a working man would wear to church. His Majesty would not see them yet. So they are trying to speak to the queen. Would you believe they don't do confession at Easter or go to church? But they hold some prayer meetings of their own in the inn. Right, Mil?" Etienne called out to a passing clerk with an ill-fitting wig.

The clerk scowled as he looked up from his book. The lad was seated on an idling coach while the coachmen fixed a broken wheel. His master fanned himself drowsily within. The coach bore the Orleans' crest on it. "It would appear the duke has regained the favour of His Majesty… or not," Etienne said as he saw the companions with the duke. One man looked very familiar to D'Eon.

Ben Franklin climbed up onto the box to join the clerk. "Those are the New World people…" the redhead explained. "Wonder what the duke is doing with them…" They continued onwards to the palace.

"Wait up! I want to go with you!" a voice shrilled. The men turned to see Natalia galloping towards them full tilt. She pulled short beside them.

"Natalia, go back now," D'Eon said. The girl shook her head so that her braids swung about her face. "Please…" The girl dismounted as if she intended to walk her horse back to the Rocheforts'. "I just wanted to see how the gardens and Lady Sophie's place is now," she pleaded.

"Sir D'Eon, I don't suppose it would be any harm for her to…" the captain added.

"No, Etienne. The chateau is now property of Her Majesty. It will be best if you go back, Natalia…" D'Eon instinctively reached out to stroke her hair. Catching sight of his disfigured right hand, he hurriedly pulled it back and slipped it into his jacket. "If you keep putting your hand in there, it may get cramped," Natalia replied. She took his right wrist and eased the hand out of the garment. She planted a light kiss on the scarred skin. "I will wait for you back there, Uncle."

* * *

Sir D'Eon was escorted into the Queen's presence by his student. The queen Marie Antoinette was very different from her predecessor. The late queen Marie was tall, poised and regal. The current Queen of France was a flighty and dainty-looking creature. She greeted Etienne with shocking familiarity which would have raised most eyebrows in the royal court, but D'Eon judged that from the nonchalance of her attendant ladies that this was the norm for her. The redhead awkwardly disentangled her arms from round his neck.

"F-forgive me… your majesty…"

"Please, Etienne… Call me Marie… Your Majesty makes me sound so old… Who's this?" D'Eon found himself being scrutinized. He bowed. A look of fleeting distaste passed over the queen's face when her eyes saw his disfigured hand. D'Eon wished he could finish his business and leave as soon as possible.

"Your Majesty, I bring a letter from the Empress, your most respected mother…" he held out the letter.

"Etienne, give me the letter… Are those New World visitors here yet? Did they bring any colourful talking birds with them?" the queen yawned behind her fan. The captain took the letter from the knight. He passed it to the queen. She ripped it open, scanned through the contents of the letter before tossing it absently on her table without a second look. As usual, her mother had chided her for having a bit of fun. The king of France was socially inept and a bore to the much more sophisticated Marie Antoinette, so she thought. The only thing good that came of her marriage was that she was free of her mother's strict discipline.

"Is my ribbon undone?" the queen fiddled with her hair. She called a maid over to redo her hair. With an apologetic smile, Etienne showed D'Eon to the door. The other callers were already waiting.

"Sir D'Eon? Whatever are you doing back in France?" Ben Franklin called out a warm greeting. D'Eon returned the greeting the best he could. "We've taken rooms at the La Palais inn, courtesy of the good duke," the Englishman nodded at his host. The duke glanced at the French knight with an inscrutable expression. The duke was the splitting image of his late father, except for the moustache. The duke was clean shaven.

"We should talk later… will tea be good?" Franklin extended an invitation before one of his companions determinedly took him by the elbow and steered him into the parlour where the queen waited.

"Chevalier D'Eon de Beaumont, it has been a while since you were last in France," the duke smiled. "I assume that you have been in touch with our English poet, Willie?"

"No, I have nothing to do with Sir William since we left London…" D'Eon guardedly replied. He was certain the duke was, if not sympathetic to them, in league with the revolutionaries. Sir Rochefort had informed him that the duke of Orleans and his wife were well-liked for their charity to the poor.

"Pity, or you would have known that the purpose of my guests' visit is to seek French aid to rise against their king," the duke strolled out into the garden. "Sir William is a loyal English subject, as enlightened as he is. He has no stomach for revolution if you get down to it. He would rather work for the parliamentary system to curtail the excesses of their nobles. Unfortunately, we French do not have as effective a way to curtail some excesses. If His Majesty deems fit, he could send our Frenchmen to fight the English in the New World and we can't do anything about it."

The duke leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes as if savouring the spring birdsong. "Yet you support their cause?" D'Eon asked. The duke shrugged. "They believe what they are fighting for and are willing to face the consequences of their decision. King George VI and his father before him had neglected the welfare of their colonies and ridden roughshod over them. The people are justified to rise up in this case, right?"

"Do you think our people will rise against the crown?" D'Eon whispered. "Perhaps, if things continue as they are…" the duke bid farewell as his guests were shown out of the chateau. Their interview with the queen had not gone well. The disappointment was written on their faces.

* * *

The chateau had changed so much that it was almost unrecognizable to Natalia. Instead of returning home, she had stabled her steed in the nearby stables and sneaked into the palace grounds. To overcome her disappointment, she had elected to explore a new building on the grounds. The sounds and smells emitting from it suggested a forge, but it was too far from the barracks to be a military blacksmith. There was a dozing guardsman at the door, who did not stir when she entered the building. Her eyes took in the many curiosities and mechanisms littering the forge. It was a literal treasure trove of art and science. There was a solitary man bent over his workbench there.

Her curiosity piqued, Natalia approached him. "Hello there, what are you working on?"

The man looked up. His face was grimy and his hair ruffled. "It's a lock…" he showed her the heavy lock he was working on. He had not expected anyone, much less a lady to be interested in his locks. She was a stranger to him. She was young and pretty, but dressed almost casually in a simple dress. Her hair was in plaits, not currently in fashion in the French court.

"It's rather complex…" Natalia peered at it carefully. _Could Robbie pick a lock like this? Her friend would love the challenge…_

The locksmith was several years older than her, slightly plump with pale brown hair. "I'm Natalia de Beaumont," Natalia introduced herself. The man looked surprised by her forwardness.

"I-I'm Auguste…" he replied finally. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Auguste. My uncle and I just came over from Vienna," Natalia said.

"I see," Auguste smiled. If she were a foreign noble, it would explain why she did not recognize him as the king of France. That and the fact his face was filthy with grease and he was wearing a workman's apron over his clothes. The name de Beaumont sounded familiar but Auguste could not recall where he had heard it before. _Wait, was it possible that Natalia's uncle was the same D'Eon de Beaumont?_ Natalia peered at an intricately-crafted cuckoo clock, a present from a Swiss diplomat.

"This is lovely… Oh!" Natalia almost leapt out of her skin when tiny porcelain bird shot out of its gilded house and cuckoo-ed the hour. She stumbled back and almost fell over a misplaced tool. "Careful!" Auguste caught her before she fell onto the floor.

**Author's Notes:**

Robbie and Etienne's rivalry is heating up. Maybe D'Eon's fears of them coming to blows is justified. And Natalia meets His Majesty...

Benjamin Franklin and the New World colonists are in France to get support for their uprising against the English crown. This is a historical fact. King Louis XVI did send men and arms to the New World to support the uprising. The first American soldiers under George Washington were in fact trained by the French. A bit of work needed to transform a ragtag band of guerilla fighters into a regular type army of that era.


	42. A Stirring Wind

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

William Wordsworth is back in Paris.

**Chapter 42 – A Stirring Wind**

Paris was a place of many fascinating sights and sounds. Robbie exchanged a few words with a trader before making off with a piece of velvet ribbon without the man's notice. He was getting bored with just that genteel old knight for company back at the Rocheforts'. Sir Michel's gardens did not interest him much and he had sworn a solemn oath to Sir D'Eon not to steal from the old knight. He bought an apple from a little girl and walked along munching it idly. The taverns looked promising for a good old bare-knuckled brawl.

"Robbie, my lad… is that you?" Robbie stopped in his tracks at that familiar voice. The words were delivered in oddly accented French. The English poet William Wordsworth stepped out from the doorway of a local tavern. He was dressed shabbily as if he was a common sailor but he was too pale and scholarly-looking to carry it off. The lad saw through his disguise almost immediately.

"I do hope you have good news with regards to our exile," the raven-haired youth said tersely. The poet laughed. "You never were exiled, Robbie. Only the de Beaumonts… but you would go where they go, right? Your sisters miss you much, as do several ladies whose acquaintance you have made back home. Oh, Doris tells me Clara the milkmaid has delivered a baby boy who looks just like you…"

"I never did anything with Clara or her twin sister…" Robbie smiled grimly. "What brings you to France, Sir?" He rested a hand on his dagger hilt, just in case.

"A wind from across the sea…" the English knight shrugged. "Would you be interested in working for your king and country, my lad?"

"How? By spying on the French? You know I owe the de Beaumonts my life…"

"Relax, my lad. I will not ask you to harm our friends… come in, Robbie," the knight took Robbie by the arm. "Some business should not be discussed in the streets." William Wordsworth did not want to be spotted by any of Jean Paul's or Madame Roland's people. For all he knew the French revolutionaries bore a grudge against him for his support of the English crown. "I have rooms upstairs."

* * *

Instead of returning to Sir Michel's, D'Eon took up Franklin's invitation to join them for tea. The colonists were an intellectual lot. The conversation topic skipped from arts, literature and philosophy to mathematics and sciences with a good dash of business. Tea was offered and appreciated by the colonists. The duchess had made biscuits and tea cakes. There was wine as well.

"Someday, perhaps, we will be able to harness the power of lightning…" Franklin concluded his little description of his little kite-flying experiment. "What do you make of our decision to break from King George, given you were his tutor once?" There was a moment of awkward silence. The colonists clearly had not expected their comrade to be so candid in front of this unknown Frenchman. Franklin only smiled and poured out more tea.

"I believe young George lacks guidance. His father, unfortunately, is not in the best of health and Her Majesty, Queen Mary, is occupied with caring for him and their younger children," D'Eon finally replied. "Agreed. It is a pity he does not accept your guidance, Sir D'Eon," Franklin replied. "What does he or his father know about the lot of the common man? What do they know of the harsh winters we face in the colonies? The difficulty in coaxing harvest from the earth, or the sufferings of our native brothers in God? Yes, many of us consider the natives of the New World our friends."

"Yet they in England are willing to tax us mercilessly. Even the lords of parliament know nothing… they who have grown fat on the blood and sweat of slaves," a younger man in the company cried out. His dark appearance suggested he was of mixed ancestry. Franklin nodded and placed a hand on his companion's shoulder to comfort him. "We want a new order in the New World. What we want is a society where all men are equal in the eyes of the law… as in the eyes of God above," the older man added.

"Amen," a few of the colonists replied.

"Sir D'Eon, come join us," Franklin said quietly. "The French court has nothing left for you. Or do the other royal houses of Europe."

"I am sorry. I am a Frenchman foremost, and my loyalty is to the French king, King Louis…" D'Eon's words were cut off by clapping. The duke of Orleans entered the room clapping his hands. He wore a large powdered periwig with flowing curls.

"Nice try recruiting, gentlemen. Though I must remind you that for all his rank as a knight and the best living student of the late Master Teillagory, he has never seen action on a battlefield…" the duke of Orleans grabbed a tea cake from a plate. He removed his powdered wig and crammed it into his deep coat pocket. "Without military experts and trained troops, your little revolt is nothing, unless you intend to use the power of poems, which I can assure you that our knight here does not possess."

"Nothing of that at all," Franklin said. "We decided not to use the poems but to create our society with our own ability…" The other colonists nodded in agreement.

"Our country needs men like you to advise His Majesty," the duke said to D'Eon. "I do hope he will be more amiable to your guidance than to mine."

* * *

Meanwhile in Versailles, Natalia and the French king were getting to know each other better as Auguste showed off his collection of mechanical marvels to the lovely blond lady who had wandered into his forge. Natalia laughed at a tumbling mechanical clown. "These were my favourite toys…" Auguste swept his hand over a collection of battered toy soldiers. "I used to play them with my teacher, Anna."

"I would like to meet your teacher…"

"Lady Anna passed on many years ago…" Auguste blinked and looked away.

"I am sorry…"

"It's alright…"

"Who exactly are you?" Natalia asked. A mere craftsman, even one with royal patronage, could not have noble lady as a tutor.

"Well, you may call me Auguste…" the king said. He did not want Natalia to start treating him in that formal manner all his subjects did.

"Your Majesty, I beg your pardon…" a nervous-looking chamberlain rapped on the door of the forge. Auguste waved him in. "Her Majesty has spent all her allowance… there is a bill from the dressmakers..."

"Use the next month's monies…" Auguste replied distractedly. He had more than enough of Marie Antoinette's overspending.

"Her Majesty's monies for the following month have been exhausted as well…" the manservant added. "Well, use the following month's then! And ban all jewellers from Her Majesty's presence," Auguste replied. The chamberlain bowed and left to carry out his orders.

Auguste let out a weary sigh. No doubt Natalia would be all grovelling and respectful awe now in his presence. Being king was a real pain. If he could, he wished he was not one. Instead to his surprise, he found the young lady sitting on a stool and watching him with undisguised interest.

"You don't look much like a king in here…" she spoke finally. "I would never have guessed you were His Majesty… You looked a lot taller and bigger in the portraits."

Auguste laughed. "You shouldn't believe the paintings. Will you come to the palace again? I have some more curios in the palace itself you will be interested in."

"It will be as Your Majesty wishes… May I bring my uncle and friends along too?" Natalia dropped a curtsy with a smile on her lips.

Auguste lost himself in those twinkling blue-green eyes and rosy lips in that instant. "O-of course. You may bring any of your friends along…" He wanted to spend more time with this fascinating young lady but his royal duties beckoned. He took Natalia's hand in his, bowed and kissed it.

"Your Majesty!" the shocked young woman exclaimed. This was unthinkable, the king bowing before a mere girl like her. "Please, call me Auguste… and don't stand on protocol," Auguste, King Louis XVI said. "I command it."

"It will be as you wish, Auguste."

"Allow me to call a carriage to escort you to your lodgings."

"It's not too far to the Rocheforts'. Besides, I have a horse stabled nearby…"

"You ride?" Auguste's interest was further piqued. Most noblewomen could barely walk across their own estates without a carriage.

"I enjoy riding…" Natalia frowned. Her uncle never disapproved of her riding about. She wondered what the king thought about that.

"It is a unique thing for a lady to be doing…" They could arrange for Natalia de Beaumont to join the royal court, possibly live in the palace itself. Auguste had never met a young woman who could discuss science, music and arts so intelligently and openly. Most of the ladies he had amused himself with were flatterers like a good many nobles in his court. They would smile and flatter him in front of him, but laugh at him behind their fans. With Natalia, it was different. Perhaps those royal decrees could wait…

"Natalia, would you like to join me for a musical recital? We have some musicians from Italy…"

The invitation sounded wonderful. "You are too kind. Of course I would join you, Auguste. And perhaps I can ask someone to pick up the horse later," Natalia replied.

* * *

In the Rocheforts' manor, the old knight Michel Rochefort took out a locket from his coat and opened it. In it was the ivory miniature of a pretty girl child, his dead daughter Anna. "Anna, do you think I am being too hurried in my decision? Etienne's like the son I never had… He is infatuated with Her Majesty. I want the best for him. Natalia is a good girl… She is Lia's daughter, no doubt about that… Yet I feel I am pushing D'Eon into a decision."

"Sir Michel?" D'Eon entered the room just as the old man blinked away his tears and pocketed the locket. "Have you seen Natalia?" The discussions at the duke's place had gone on longer than he expected. Etienne's duties would keep him at Versailles until late at night. He had chanced upon Robbie poring over a book in the study. It was heartening to see the lad take an interest in military history and strategy. Perhaps Robbie would make a good soldier someday,_ if he could break his habit of stealing. _

"Why, no… I thought she was with you…" the old knight replied. "Could she be with Etienne?" If so, it was a hopeful sign. However, it was not proper for her to be interfering with his guard duties.

"No, I left Etienne to his duties at the Petit Tranion…" D'Eon frowned at the memory of Her Majesty's affection for his student. That was clearly not proper and possibly damaging to both the queen's and Etienne's reputations. Etienne would bear the brunt of it if found out. King Louis XV would never allow himself to be made a cuckold or even allow so much as a whiff of possible infidelity from his queen. D'Eon guessed his son was the same. "But her horse is in the stables…" D'Eon recalled. He had seen the horse that Natalia rode to Versailles on when he was leading his steed back to its stall.

"Sirs, there is a fine carriage heading up here," Robbie's voice called out from outside the French windows. "She's back." The youth made a face. D'Eon's first impression was that Natalia's looks had attracted the attentions of some nobleman. She had always been able to handle herself in Vienna.

Both knights hurried to the porch. Robbie was perched on the balustrade with his books closed on his lap. He was toying with a small wood-knife. The carriage was a one from Versailles, bearing the royal crest. A full sortie of royal household guards accompanied it.

"Your Majesty!" Sir Michel recognised the man who stepped out of the carriage and offered his hand to Natalia. Both knights immediately knelt before their king. Robbie, not being French and lacking any inclination for royal protocol, chose to roll over the side of his perch and into some bushes, dropping out of sight in the slightest rustle of leaves. The young lady was dressed, not in the dress she had left the manor in, but a new and very stylish gown fit for a princess. Her hair was dressed and piled high on her head.

"Sorry I am late, uncle…" Natalia apologised. The hectic flush on her cheeks suggested she had been drinking more than she should.

"Natalia?" D'Eon caught her as she stumbled on her long gown and pitched forward. _What was she doing in the company of the king? _

"I understand, Sir Rochefort, that Lady Natalia is staying with you…" the king pointedly ignored D'Eon. "Yes, sire. She is betrothed to my son, the captain Etienne…" Sir Michel lied. "Sir D'Eon has returned to France to fulfil the betrothal between our families…" Perhaps the king would turn his attentions elsewhere… There was a choking sound from within the bushes from Robbie, who took offence at the idea of Natalia and Etienne as a couple. However, everyone else mistook it for a stray dog.

"Ah, yes… Etienne, your son by adoption. Her Majesty has nothing but praise for him. It is a pity to separate the captain from his fiancée. That settles it. Lady Natalia shall come to Versailles as a lady-in-waiting to the queen," King Louis XVI decreed.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," D'Eon protested. "My niece is not schooled in the protocols of the French court. She is unsuitable to attend on Her Majesty…"

"My decision is final, Sir D'Eon… You will be given a post in the royal household as a master of the royal stables. I understand that you have a way with horses…" the king said offhandedly. This time, the 'stray dog' in the bushes barked with laughter. D'Eon wondered if he should have accepted Franklin's invitation to leave for the New World.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon and Natalia are going back to the French royal court, despite D'Eon's misgivings. Robbie is turning into a possible spy for Sir Willie and the English.


	43. A Betrothal

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 43 – A Betrothal**

"Robbie, I need a hand here…" Natalia cried out. The housekeeper was busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Robbie leapt to his feet and closed his book but D'Eon was one step ahead of him. As they could not afford the services of a lady's maid in England, it was not unusual for D'Eon or Robbie to help Natalia with her corset. D'Eon walked into her room to find his niece standing in a chemise before a mirror. "Corset…" Natalia indicated with a shrug.

D'Eon took hold of the corset laces and yanked them tight. Natalia gasped as the corset tightened about her waist. "Robbie, help him please…" she added. Robbie stepped in to take the laces from D'Eon. D'Eon stared at his crippled hand. Even a simple task like tightening a corset for Natalia was awkward for him now. Still, he kept an eye on Robbie to make sure his hands did not wander where they should not.

"Your bosom is looking perky today," Robbie whistled as he allowed his eyes to rove over the reflection of Natalia's bosom in the mirror. "Oh, you flatterer… Get me my dress please…" Natalia replied.

"I'll do your hair too… Braids?" Robbie laughed. "Sure," Natalia pulled the gown over her head and allowed Robbie to tie the ribbons at the back. "Uncle, your waistcoat is undone…" Natalia pointed out. It would never do for the newly –appointed royal stable master to show up sloppily-dressed. She tied a velvet ribbon over the scar on her neck. D'Eon fumbled clumsily with the pearl buttons of his waistcoat.

"Allow me," Robbie offered. He deftly buttoned the chevalier's waistcoat. D'Eon never felt so inadequate. "I'll go with you to the stables. Just in case you need a hand," the English lad said.

* * *

As it turned out, there was little to do as a stable-master. The royal grooms were a disciplined team and took on their duties with pride. The royal horses were well-cared for. The stables near spotless. After checking the hay bales and oats were sufficient, D'Eon watched the grooms prepare a team of horses for a royal hunting party. Robbie perched on a stile nearby reading a book and scraping with a piece of charcoal. The boy's recent interest in literary pursuits heartened D'Eon greatly. He wondered how Natalia was faring as a lady of the court.

"Will Captain Rochefort be joining the hunt?" he asked the head groom. "No, Her Majesty never goes on rides with His Majesty," the groom replied.

"Then who is that mare for?" D'Eon asked. He had expected the matching mare to His Majesty's hunting steed to be for his queen. "Some lady he is keen on I suppose…" the groom shrugged. As a servant it was not his place to question the morals of his betters. "I think he means the royal mistress," Robbie added in English. D'Eon nodded. He had seen for himself how King Louis XV neglected the late Queen Marie and how Madame de Pompadour lorded over the royal court with her hangers-on. Queen Marie Antoinette seemed to be little better off than her predecessor.

"Hi Uncle," Natalia greeted him as she stepped into the paddock. She was accompanied by what seemed to be a good part of the royal court. Seeing the king, the grooms and D'Eon immediately bent the knee. "You may rise," King Louis XVI said graciously. All rose except for Robbie. The English lad had chosen to dodge behind a barrel the moment he spied the nobles approaching. He did not want to be too well-known at the French court yet, not until he could gauge which nobles and servants were more likely to oblige him some state secrets. Sir William's proposal of working as a spy.

"Is this horse mine?" Natalia asked. She turned to look at the king. D'Eon gulped. She had selected the fine white stallion they had saddled for the king. The horse nuzzled her hand and Natalia laughed musically.

"Of course, Natalia," Auguste replied. "Thank you…" Natalia smiled and leaned over to bestow a kiss on the king's cheek. D'Eon choked. That was shockingly improper behaviour. Even Madame de Pompadour refrained from kissing the king like that in front of the court.

"Come on, Sir D'Eon. Aren't you helping Lady Natalia into her saddle?" the king demanded. D'Eon bustled forward to help his niece mount her horse. "Natalia… what was that kiss about? It's not proper…" D'Eon whispered.

"I like Auguste, uncle. He makes me laugh…" Natalia replied. "Oh don't! I can manage myself…" she protested as her uncle tried clumsily to help her into the saddle. To D'Eon's dismay and the amusement of the observers, Natalia bundled up her skirts and threw her leg gracefully across the saddle so that she was sitting astride the horse. Never had so much stocking-clad legs been revealed in that paddock.

"Shall we go, Auguste? I really want to see the lake you were telling me so much about…" Natalia smiled as she expertly trotted the horse to the gate of the paddock.

* * *

"I hear the king's taken a fancy to some lowly noblewoman…" Camile whispered conspiringly as he bent over his tankard. Madame Defarge snorted and plonked a plate of stale bread and rancid-looking cheese in front of his companion. "Merci," Milien smiled weakly. One must always remember one's manners. "You needn't use your court manners here, Mil," Ernest Defarge rebuked his young customer gently.

"Force of habit I guess," Milien smiled. Meeting in a coffee house with Camile was too dangerous. One might run into a noble or two there. Ever since coffee houses became the centres for discussion of science and the arts, thanks to the duke, it has become fashionable to be seen in one. Camile Desmoulin's scathing pamphlets had earned the ire of many a noble. The humble tavern was a safer bet.

"Really? Is it Madame Polignac? She was a dressmaker before Her Majesty made her a noble…" Milien mused. Discussing the king's many affairs was not quite what he had in mind of spending an afternoon with his friend.

"Madame Polignac? No! She's old enough to be His Majesty's mother! No, Mil, the lady in question is much younger. He made her a lady-in-waiting to the queen but she waits on him rather than Her Majesty, so my courtly sources tell me," Camile winked at his companion. Francois' wife Annamarie attended court as an artist, albeit one specialising in death masks. She also had a good eye for sculpting in wax and an ear for gossip. "Might you know the lady?" Milien asked.

Camile laughed and slapped his knee. "I was hoping you would! Her uncle's a minor noble, a chevalier. His name slips me… Oh, she's affianced to Her Majesty's favourite captain… Mil, are you ill? You have gone awful pale."

_Lia._ His sister's pet name popped into Milien's mind unbidden. There was no doubt in his mind. His sister was the new favourite of the king. He swallowed the sour wine in his tankard.

* * *

"I will be sitting for a portrait, Etienne… Isn't that wonderful? I never stood for one before…" Natalia was all smiles and laughter. She had gushed on about the ride and the play she had attended in the king's company. Part of D'Eon was glad Natalia was enjoying herself. She always was a solemn and somewhat sad child. The other part of him was gravely concerned. The king was fond of Natalia, perhaps too fond. Sir Michel clearly shared his misgivings. The Rocheforts picked at their dinner as Natalia dominated the conversation.

"Do you think I should pose outdoors or in the studio?" Natalia continued with her eyes shining.

"Etienne, Natalia… With regards to your betrothal, it will be best for all if we set a date for the wedding soon," Sir Michel finally spoke. A pained look flashed over both young people's faces. "W-wedding?" Etienne dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. His cheeks turned red.

"Uncle, I was not told about this!" Natalia accused her uncle, who promptly stared at his feet. _How dare he take it upon himself to arrange something so important without consulting her first? _

"Shall I bring in dessert, monsieur?" Robbie glided into the dining room at this moment. Natalia threw down her napkin and stormed past him. "Did I do something wrong?" the bewildered youth asked. D'Eon only shook his head in reply. Natalia was displaying all the headstrongness that so characterised her mother. D'Eon had seen for himself how determined Lia could be. He did not relish trying to explain things to his niece.

* * *

"Natalia, you are old enough to be married and Etienne is a good man who will care for you," D'Eon said through the solid oak door of Natalia's room. Natalia shouted something rude in reply before she opened the door to her uncle. "You never thought to ask how we feel on that," she said quietly. She had undressed and changed into her nightgown, which sported a low neckline that exposed much of her bosom.

"Nat, Master D'Eon meant no harm…" Etienne had joined his teacher. "Sir Michel is concerned about our future… I do like you, Nat. You are my dear friend…" He studiously kept his eyes averted from Natalia's bosom. D'Eon noted that his student was blushing red.

"But everyone says you are overly fond of Her Majesty!" Natalia snapped. _Was she jealous? _"Yes, I adore her for her spirit," Etienne admitted. "However, I have always conducted myself honourably with her. I swear…"

"I believe you… I'm sorry but I cannot agree to a wedding," Natalia shook her head. "Uncle, Etienne, I think I may be in love with Auguste."

"You don't refer to His Majesty like that," D'Eon said in horror. Such familiarity was unthinkable. "But he's married to the queen!" Etienne protested. Natalia's bedroom door slammed shut. The message was clear. She was not going to discuss this matter any further that night.

* * *

"Sir Michel, I'm sorry but I'm afraid the engagement…" D'Eon stepped regretfully into Sir Michel's study. The old man was poring over some documents on his table. "The engagement is off? She is every bit your sister's child, isn't she?" the old knight chuckled. "Come in and sit with me, D'Eon. I have matters to discuss with you… concerning the future of the young ones as well as possibly the kingdom." He waved D'Eon in as he walked over to the fireplace.

The younger knight took a chair beside the fire facing Sir Michel's armchair. Due to his age, the older knight suffered badly from pains in the joints and the roaring fire in the heath was one of the means by which he sought relief. The heat was stifling for D'Eon.

"Have you spoken with the English colonists, D'Eon?"

"Yes." D'Eon had spoken with Franklin and the Duke of Orleans on more than one occasion since their paths first crossed at Petit Trianon. "What do you think of their endeavour? To be honest, D'Eon, what they are proposing is daring and almost unthinkable. But I suppose this is the English way. They have little qualms about deposing their kings and on occasion having them beheaded as they did King Charles I of England," Sir Michel continued. D'Eon nodded. He had familiarised himself with the history and culture of England during his lengthy sojourn there. Robbie in particular delighted in telling gruesome tales of how royal personages were executed on Tower Hill.

"Yet there is a possibility of success should His Majesty aid them. If so, I want to send Etienne over to the New World with the army. I feel that he would fare better on a New World battlefield than at Versailles," Michel smoothed his whiskers wearily. "My wish is for Etienne to leave the royal service and seek out his own future abroad. Natalia is a strong woman. She has the steel Etienne lacks to prosper in the brave new world the colonists wish to create."

"In the end, Natalia and Etienne will have to make their own choices… I fear that His Majesty is too fond of Natalia."

"Ah, but Natalia will not agree to be his paramour, unless she loves him as well," Sir Michel said. "As the woman the king loves, your niece will have immense power and influence at court, and many enemies as well. You know His Majesty is childless now. Her Majesty has yet to produce an heir to the throne, yet she squanders the royal coffers as if there were no tomorrow. The Duke of Orleans is right about the unhappiness of the French people. I fear for the crown and all those linked with it. Your boy Robbie has been seen hanging about some seedy taverns. You should keep a firmer rein on him."

"Right," D'Eon agreed. It would be terrible if the Englishman got mixed up with the Revolutionary Brethren.

"Forgive me, D'Eon… About your hand…" Sir Michel asked.

"I am learning to write with my left hand," D'Eon replied. "I was wondering if you would like a doctor to look at it," Sir Michel continued. "Francois Tussad and his medical friends are looking into some new surgery techniques to repair damaged hands. You may wish to have them look at it."

**Author's Notes:**

Natalia becoming the royal paramour of King Louis XVI, or better known as Auguste? No wonder D'Eon is concerned, as is her brother.


	44. Robbie, Spy

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 44 – Robbie, Spy**

"Actually, Sir D'Eon, it was the colonists who are working on it," Francois explained. "They've had woodsmen and fur-trappers come in with messed up hands that need fixing." D'Eon patiently waited as the pigeon-faced doctor travelling with Franklin's delegation studied his maimed hand, feeling the bones under the scarred flesh.

Francois had brought him to the inn where the New World colonists were staying. The inn was comfortable though modest. The doctor finally let go of his patient's hand and removed his eyeglasses. "How's his hand?" Franklin asked. The philosopher had been watching the examination over the shoulder of the doctor.

"Well, the fingers are fused due to scar tissue… It will be possible for use to cut through the scar tissue to free the fingers but there is no guarantee he will be able to use his hand well enough for…" the doctor wheezed.

"Well, it is better than nothing, right?" Francois chirped.

"It will hurt," the doctor warned. "We will need good strong men to hold you down as I can't put you under…"

"I can take a bit of pain," D'Eon growled. He was tired of being treated as a cripple. It would be great if he could regain the use of his hand, without…

"Or his hand will simply fester and we will have to lob it off like a bit of rotten wood," Robbie added wickedly. He had followed D'Eon out of curiosity and sheer stubbornness. "I could rig up something to do that real quickly." The English lad was already toying with a fish knife and a few planks of wood. It was like Robbie to busy himself with whatever scraps lay about, when he was not paying court to some girl. There was something eerily familiar about the contraption he had created, as D'Eon had seen it somewhere before, in that dream-world he witnessed with Lia so long ago in that abbey. He was snapped out of his reverie by the entrance of an unexpected caller.

"D'Eon de Beaumont! Just the man I was looking for," the Duke of Orleans entered the room. He smiled and greeted Franklin and the others warmly, apologising for his intrusion into their discussion.

"Sir D'Eon, you should be aware that Lady Natalia will be made a noble, a Baronne… by order of His Majesty King Louis XVI…" the duke said. D'Eon gasped in shock. Robbie's eyes narrowed.

"Did Natalia have to lift her skirts for that?" the boy asked saucily. However, D'Eon could sense the bitterness in his tone.

* * *

Instead of returning with D'Eon to the Rocheforts', Robbie applied himself to spying on behalf of Sir William. His sisters could use the stipend due for his services to the crown. He fobbed D'Eon off with an excuse about seeing some pretty fishmonger's daughter he was sweet on. The blond Frenchman was too gullible to question him. He sneaked back to the inn and secreted himself below a window where he could eavesdrop on the persons within.

His whereabouts did not go unnoticed by an alert Milien. The clerk had gone upstairs to avoid encountering his uncle. Milien simply gave a nonchalant shrug and emptied the foul contents of a chamber pot on the aspiring spy. The barely-stifled screams of outrage that reached him were music to his ears.

Covered with urine and excrement, the English spy limped off. Milien seized his pistol from his belt and aimed it tentatively at the fleeing spy_. No…_ he would spare the boy his life and limbs, even though the temptation of putting a bullet through Robbie's chest was almost unbearable. He handed the emptied pot to the woman at his side.

The new order would blossom over the seas, if only the French could be persuaded to back the colonists with their army…Lafeyette was eager to win glory in war, as were a good many officers in the army. If only the king would listen and assist Franklin and his men. Milien drummed the sill with his long elegant fingers. Master Robespierre would be interested in what the colonists intend to do.

"What's on your mind?" Lorenza asked. Robespierre had assigned her to help keep an eye on the duke and his guests. Lorenza had lost her youthful looks thanks to her hard drinking and living, but she could still pass for a tavern wench. Indeed, Lorenza was more bar wench than noble, despite her airs and Cagliostro's efforts to turn her into a lady.

"Nothing," Milien smiled. Lorenza was reminded of his father, Maximilien. There was a bit of his father in those solemn eyes and that chin, but his features were cast in the same mould as his mother's for most part. A handsome youth by all accounts.

* * *

"Natalia, I must speak with you about your relationship with His Majesty…" D'Eon found his niece sitting in her room, admiring the latest gift from her royal suitor, a glided model of the Notre Dame cathedral complete with bells that actually chimed the hour.

"I love Auguste, Uncle D'Eon," the girl said stubbornly. "Will you have your hand treated by those colonists?" she asked. Robbie had informed her of D'Eon's visit to the colonists.

"I am considering it," D'Eon replied dryly. Natalia was proving to be insensible to reason. Surely she could see that His Majesty's infatuation with her was most likely fleeting and could only end in heartbreak and her disgrace. As history had proven time and again, many royal mistresses were destined to live out their days bitter, lonely and often penniless.

"You should marry Etienne Rochefort. You must," D'Eon clenched his fists. He hated himself at that moment. "No!" Natalia replied. "I refuse to be forced into marriage."

"Natalia, Etienne is a good, kind man…" D'Eon pleaded.

"That's why I cannot wed him. I treasure him as a friend…" Natalia twirled a lock of her hair round her finger. "I know His Majesty cannot divorce Her Majesty, but love is more than just a gold band round a finger, no?"

"Your mother would not have wanted this for you," D'Eon started.

"My mother loved my father and had us out of wedlock. No need of any damned priest to pronounce my ma and pa husband and wife. Uncle, will you be attending the masquerade ball?" Natalia asked. She was tired and wanted to rest.

"No and neither should you," D'Eon replied and watched helplessly as Natalia arose from her seat and walked away. _Lia, I should never have brought her to Paris…_

* * *

_Lia must not go with the king._ Natalia gasped at the message scrawled on her mirror. _How dare her brother take their uncle's side!_ Enraged, she threw her hairbrush at the mirror. It shattered into smithereens. Not bothering to undress, she kicked off her shoes and climbed into her bed, pulling the quilt over her head.

It was not Uncle D'Eon or Max's fault. Why was it that she felt so conflicted about Auguste? She understood her uncle's concerns but they paled whenever she thought of Auguste. She was so happy with him. He charmed her in his quaint manner. Some might consider him unfashionable. He did not dance, hunt or play cards like most nobles did. He also admitted that he found attending balls tiresome.

"I love Auguste," she admitted wearily. "God help me, I love him though I know I shouldn't." She buried her face in her pillow and wept.

* * *

"Natalia?" The scent of flowers roused D'Eon from his drunken haze. It was only Robbie. The youth had shed his soiled clothes, scrubbed his body clean, and doused his skin liberally with rosewater to remove the stench of his failed spying exercise.

"Have you been to a Parisian brothel?" D'Eon complained as the overpowering perfume made him sneeze.

"Pass me that bottle, sir…" Robbie said as he took in the sight of the Frenchman sprawled in the armchair. Sir Michel would not appreciate walking in on a drunken D'Eon. Without protesting, the knight surrendered the half-empty bottle. The young man took a good swallow of the brandy before corking it and setting it aside.

"Spying is not at all what it is cracked up to be… any tips from a former member of the Secret de Roi?"

"Who told you I was in the Secret de Roi? Wait, it was Natalia, wasn't it?" D'Eon slapped his brow. His head hurt. "And what's this about spying?"

"Thought you might like me to keep an eye on Natalia…" Robbie lied.

"I was never much of a spy in the secret police or the Secret de Roi…" D'Eon confessed. It was Durand and Master Teillagory who had the experience and the smarts to guide him along. "You got out alive, didn't you?" Robbie nudged him. "Someone tried to drown me with a chamber pot today… Never had that happen to me before, might be losing my touch."

"I suppose that would explain why you pilfered Natalia's perfume," D'Eon reached out for the bottle, only to have Robbie move it resolutely out of his reach. "Was it Natalia? And what mischief are you up to?" It would be awful if Robbie got ensnared in some court intrigue between England and France.

Robbie only shrugged. The boy stretched out his lanky legs before the fireplace like a contented cat. "At least I have some pretty Mademoiselles whose company I would delight in… care to join me? Those ladies would adore a bona fide knight," he glibly changed the topic. Faced with Robbie's impish grin, D'Eon really felt he needed a drink now.

"Robbie. Brandy. Now," D'Eon lunged for the bottle. Robbie whipped it out of his reach yet again. The lad leapt over the armchair and away from D'Eon. His grey eyes twinkled with mischief. D'Eon stumbled over the armchair.

"Those chaps from the New World want you to put in a good word for them if they offer to fix your hand. Do you intend to help them?" Robbie asked. "For me, I may be interested in seeking my fortunes there but Sir William says all the womenfolk there are stuffy Puritans. No fun at all unless I take a frisky young thing or two along for company…"

"So I take it Sir William has failed to appeal to any sense of loyalty you may have to your country…" D'Eon mumbled. Robbie only laughed. "Loyalty? It is a cruel world we live in. King George wouldn't miss me a whit even if I get hung up to dry like a landed haddock. In fact, I would think he may even order me shot first," the English youth resignedly pressed the bottle back into his mentor's hand.

"I miss my sisters, Aunt Doris' pies and the pretty milkmaids on the farm. But I'm an exile, aren't I?" the boy sounded so forlorn.

"No, you are not…" D'Eon did not take any sips from the brandy bottle. Instead, he placed it on the side table.

"Yes, I am. I am with Lady Natalia. Her loyal servant," Robbie bowed. "Sir D'Eon, it is late… we best get some sleep before another day at the royal stables start." He hefted D'Eon's arm over his shoulder and helped the knight to his bed.

* * *

D'Eon was not the only one to suffer fretting over Natalia's relationship with Auguste.

"Milien?" Robespierre called out to the young man sitting before the standing mirror. The open book of Psalms lay before him. The lad had been trying to contact his sister again. There were grimy ink stains on the mirror from Milien's fingers. Milien slowly turned to face his mentor. "I'm not tired yet…" he lied and stifled a yawn.

"You are a poor liar, like your uncle…" Robespierre chided as he wrapped his own coat around the boy's nightshirt. It might be spring but the nights were still chilly. Milien was almost blue from the cold. He caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror. There was hardly any sign of Robin the pageboy in that careworn face staring back at him. The eyes were like blue stones, devoid of emotion.

"Master, you should get some sleep too. Do you think the colonists from the Americas will succesed if they rise against the English crown?" Milien asked. He touched his finger to the pages of his book tentatively. There was a faint glow and the words slid over the page. Robespierre smiled slightly. For a moment, it seemed that it was Robin the pageboy smiling back at them from the mirror.

"I believe they could," Milien concluded. He shut the book and lifted it from the floorboards. "A new era. Pity we have to wait longer here…" he glanced at the mirror thoughtfully. He could not put his twin in danger. There would be no peaceful change. Only blood could usher in the change France so much needed. Jean Paul Marat was dangerous and vindictive, eager to avenge himself on the gentry. Madame Roland was somewhat misguided in her beliefs. Perhaps someday, women could have equal rights as men but not now in such society. Even if they shed blood and sweat for the revolution, Charlotte and a good many of Madame Roland's protégés would be in for a sore disappointment.

"Your sister is getting too close to the crown…" Robespierre warned. King Louis XVI's growing infatuation with young Lady de Beaumont was becoming common knowledge. "I will try to warn her away," Milien said. "Do not involve her in this."

**Author's Notes:**

Finally, I have completed another chapter. Robbie is hopelessly inept as a spy. Lia and Maximilien Sr. would give D'Eon an earful for letting Natalia become a candidate for Royal Mistress.


	45. Doubts and Dreams

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 45 – Doubts and Dreams**

The stables were cool and dim, rich with the smells of horses. D'Eon secretly enjoyed such times spent away from the strict protocol of the court. It reminded him of the lazy summer days of his boyhood spent with his sister readying their mounts for a ride through the countryside. That was so long ago. His Majesty was a kind boy, so Anna always said. She always referred to the Dauphine as her little prince. As a monarch, he was somewhat timid and perhaps easily swayed… Natalia could prove to be the guidance the royal court so needed… His young niece was smart enough to handle herself in most situations, but not when she's acting like a silly girl in the throes of her first romance! D'Eon confessed to himself that he was not going to let Natalia go to the masquerade ball without him.

"Penny for your thoughts, sir?" Robbie enquired. D'Eon had not notice him entering the stables. The boy had a book tucked under his arm. "Natalia's stories of the adventures of Le Chevalier proved to be a bestseller in London, they now have them translated into French here in Paris," Robbie explained. "Suppose my sisters could use those royalties back home… It's Natalia and the king, right? Look on the bright side, if our little Natalia becomes queen, you could become a marquis or something with more riches than you can spend…"

"That will never happen! King Louis XVI is married to Queen Marie Antoinette and divorce is out of the question." D'Eon returned his attention to inspecting a frayed saddle girth.

"Well, she hasn't popped out any heirs yet… don't royals get to divorce their wives or at least put them in a convent for that?" Robbie mused.

"We're Catholic. No divorce or annulment without His Holiness' approval. The pope is unlikely to agree to one. And if we send the Austrians back their princess or pop her into a convent without a good reason, Empress Marie Teresa would have an army sent our way…" D'Eon explained. "Robbie, I thought you liked Natalia…"

"I do, but when I told her that, she told me to stop jesting with her… I don't suppose it could ever work out between us. I would like a wife who would stay home, cook, clean and look after the little ones, but Natalia's another thing altogether," Robbie smiled wistfully. "Lady Natalia charms everyone, even when she doesn't know it herself. If she likes that puffed-up king, then I can only tip my cap and wish her the best." D'Eon could sense the disappointment in the boy's smile.

"Will it help if Her Majesty chokes to death on mushrooms or something?" Robbie whispered. "No," D'Eon said sternly. Robbie must not get any ideas of court intrigues. "Kings do not marry illegitimate girls. France would only accept noble blooded queens."

"So poor Natalia gets no consideration just because her old man forgot to get a priest and a ring for the formalities before…" Robbie broke off in mid-sentence and stood up slowly. His eyes were riveted on something in the paddock outside. D'Eon looked at the paddock and almost choked. He recognized Natalia, but she was wearing a plain gown instead of the formal ball gown for attending court. She was accompanied by a hesitant Auguste, also dressed as a commoner. The clothes were clearly meant for a thinner man and were bursting at the seams.

"Oh, it will be so fun to go to Paris incognito and find out what's really going on," Natalia urged. "But we shouldn't. It is against protocol… What if the others find out?" Auguste gasped. The short trot from the palace had tired him.

"Uncle, is there a pair of nice calm horses we can use? Nothing too showy…" Natalia greeted her uncle with a peck on the cheek. Mutely, D'Eon pointed out a pair of brown nags. "Merci!" Natalia hugged her uncle and started saddling the horses. The pair was gone before D'Eon finally found his voice. "Oh, Natalia… what have you done?"

"Shall I go after them, sir?" Robbie asked. "Yes, please…" D'Eon replied weakly. Being coddled within the palace of Versailles since infancy, Auguste lacked the street-smarts to handle himself on the Parisian streets. Natalia was being too reckless in her excursion.

* * *

"It stinks…" Auguste complained. He looked questioningly at the food on his plate. Natalia had chosen a common tavern catering to a wide spectrum of clients, from soldiers to merchants and even labourers. "But this is Paris, Auguste…" Natalia explained. "Just listen…"

"The prices of flour went up again…" a fishwife complained to her sister over a tankard of ale. "It would be good if they could kit us out properly to deal with piracy off the coast…" a sailor muttered bitterly as he nursed his leg stump. "As for me, I'm stuck on dry land… I gave my youth and health to France and I'm down to my last sou! Cheers to that, heh?"

"The Marquis de Sade is a bastard who ill-treats any poor maid in his employ. Did you hear his parlour maid hung herself after he got her in the family way?" a wizened hag complained. "Nobles never change, do they? Blind and deaf to how the rest of us are suffering," she cooed to the bundle of rags on her lap. The sickly infant on her lap simply stared open-eyed on the smoky tavern.

"How rude," Auguste snapped. He got onto his feet and made for the door. "After all the nobles have done for them… this is positively rebellious…"

"What have we done for them, Auguste?" Natalia laid a restraining hand on his arm. "I do admit that there are nobles who are kind and charitable, who think of the common man. Yet there are many more in Versailles who only seek to protect their own interests." They had held elaborate balls and parties while whole families starved for the want of food.

"But Natalia, who are these people? Surely these are not my subjects?" Auguste protested. "I am king," he whispered. "And I am France." He did not want to attract too much attention. It was unbecoming if the king were found in such squalid surroundings.

"No, Auguste… you may wear the crown but these citizens, they are France. They are your subjects," Natalia whispered softly. "Shall we return?" she could see that this glimpse at Parisian life had unsettled her king. She also noted that Robbie was loitering in an alleyway nearby. However, she was bewildered when the raven-haired boy rapped sharply on a door and was swiftly admitted into the shadows beyond.

"Yes…" Auguste replied weakly. "Our horses…" they walked off to the stables where they had left their horses. Inside the rundown townhouse, Robbie clambered up the rickety stairs and sat down on a chair before a well-dressed man scribbling a letter.

"Here's the latest information, courtesy of the marquis' daughter. De Molmers would not hesitate to throw their lot in with the colonists as they lost land when Louis XV handed the colonies to England. However, Louis XVI is still undecided on whether he would back the colonies in their revolt," Robbie reported to Sir William. "There is also the fact that the royal coffers are creaking from the expenses of Her Majesty and the navy and army are ill-equipped. In fact, there are complaints that some patrols have not seen their month's pay yet, particularly in the southern port of Marseilles." He opened his book and extracted a thin piece of paper from the pages, handing it to his spymaster.

"Well done, Robbie," Sir William replied. "How is Natalia settling into France?" He sealed the letter with a wax seal. It would be sent to the English embassy for a quick despatch to London.

"She will go far with the royal patronage," Robbie evaded the question deftly. "I see. But I suppose you will be nearby to lend her a shoulder to cry on if things don't work out… you know kings can be so fickle-minded," Sir William lit his pipe. The young Englishman nodded. "I best get going then, before they miss me." Robbie put his hat on his head and bid his fellow countryman goodbye.

* * *

"Kings will have their mistresses… don't let that get to you…" Sir Michel said ruefully as D'Eon entered the library. "Etienne told me. Natalia informed him that their engagement was off given her current circumstances… She felt it would not be fair to him."

"My sister would not have wanted her daughter to be a mistress, even a royal one. Maybe I should have gotten her married off in England instead of bringing her back to…"

"I have received a number of letters from various noble houses asking me to help mediate a betrothal between their houses and Natalia…" Sir Michel added. It was known among the nobility for a woman's husband to benefit handsomely if she became a royal mistress. "Tell them to…" D'Eon used a curse word he had picked up from Robbie to express what he thought of those nobles. Sir Michel stroked his whiskers thoughtfully.

"D'Eon, did your sister ever have an affair with King Louis XV?"

"No, never. And Natalia knows full well who her father was," Sir D'Eon replied. His sister's relationship with the royal house of France was purely professional. And the late King Louis XV was definitely not her type.

"Pity. I was hoping if His Majesty believed Lady Natalia was his possible half-sister…" the older knight smiled. "Sir Michel, please don't bother yourself with this. We have given you enough trouble…" D'Eon replied. It was unthinkable lying to His Majesty. If it were found out, it could constitute as treason.

"You always are like a son to me, D'Eon. If you need any help, just ask…" Sir Michel said quietly. "It's no trouble at all."

* * *

"Your Majesty, I beg of you, please! Leave Natalia alone… she is young and too innocent…" D'Eon knelt before the throne. "Please do not make her your mistress!"

"But I am King, Sir D'Eon. As King, I can have any woman I fancy, is that right?" Auguste's voice sounded emptily in the hall. The king was looking over D'Eon's shoulder. Natalia stood there. "That is right, D'Eon. He is the king of France, who is in God's grace. He can't do anything wrong. It is my duty to serve him…" Natalia walked past him in a swish of taffeta skirts.

A sense of nameless dread descended on D'Eon. "Natalia, wait!" he yelled.

His niece stumbled suddenly. D'Eon gasped in horror as she fell backwards. There was blood on her lips and the front of her bodice. She had been stabbed. He held her body in his arms. "Help her! Someone! Anyone! Your Majesty!" D'Eon shouted. He glanced back at the throne. Instead of Auguste, he saw King Louis XV. The late king nonchalantly handed the bloodied sword to his henchman, Broglie.

"D'Eon…" Natalia reached out to touch his cheek weakly with her blood-stained hand. "Where's Auguste? Where's sweet Auguste?" she begged. Her eyes were glazing over with impending death.

"Murderer!" D'Eon shouted in rage at the man who had killed his sister and now his niece. Someone, a near mirror image of D'Eon, stepped forward from the shadows behind the throne, rapier drawn. With deft ease, the swordsman cut down Broglie and His Majesty before turning to D'Eon. D'Eon shuddered. It was Natalia. No, it was Maximilien, her twin. Those hate-filled eyes were that unique shade violet-blue that distinguished Maximilien from his turquoise-eyed twin.

"You should have acted sooner, Chevalier D'Eon…" he chided softly as he raised his blade to cut off the head of the fallen king, who had inexplicably changed into Auguste. There was a look of almost childish bewilderment on his features as the blade fell…

"Max! NO!" D'Eon sat up in his bed. It was only a horrific nightmare. Outside, a spring storm was battering against the panes of his window. Natalia had returned home in a sober mood after her excursion with His Majesty. She ate little at supper and retired to her room pleading a headache. Worried, D'Eon pulled on his breeches.

Taking a candle in hand, he walked across the hallway to his niece's room. "Natalia?" he tapped lightly on the door. It yielded easily to his touch. Natalia was not in the habit of leaving her door unlocked. Perhaps with her distracted mood earlier… D'Eon softly walked over to the canopied bed and peered between the curtains.

To his relief, the candle glow caught the soft glint of blond hair spilling over the pillows. There was a gentle sigh as his niece muttered something in her dreams. Natalia was asleep, safe in her bed where she should be. D'Eon placed the candle on the bedside table and rearranged the covers up to Natalia's chin. She was still a young girl, unwise in matters of the heart. After all, he had been there before, a gauche, stumbling sixteen-year-old trying to figure out his fiancée Anna.

_She's a lot younger than I was when I fell for Maximilien…_ Lia's voice broke the silence in his mind. D'Eon turned around, expecting to see his dead sister's shade in the shadows of her daughter's room. There was no sign of Lia. Wearily, D'Eon retired to his own bed. Perhaps Lia was angry with him for letting Natalia get into such a mess.

**Author's Notes:**

Some scary nightmare for D'Eon. D'Eon is being protective of his family here. After all, kings do not marry girls like Natalia, especially if they already have a queen. And maybe D'Eon still remembers that it was Louis XV who killed his sister Lia.


	46. Masquerade Ball

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

In 18th century Europe, most royal marriages are purely political in nature. In some cases, such matches even proved to be disastrous, the royal couple being all but estranged from each other. France was no exception. Historically, King Louis XV and Empress Maria Theresa of Austria set up the betrothal of the Austrian Princess Maria Antonia (better known as Marie Antoinette) and the Dauphin (French Crown Prince) as part of a peace treaty between France and Austria.

**Chapter 46 – Masquerade Ball**

"I thought you weren't going," Robbie looked up from his book to see D'Eon clad in the uniform of a musketeer from a bygone century. He also sported a horsehair moustache under his nose. "Get dressed. You are coming too. Where's Natalia?" D'Eon asked as he thrust a bundle of similar clothes at Robbie. "I am not wearing that," Robbie protested. "I'm going to wear something else. Maybe I can go as a pirate. Noble ladies fall hard for the bad-boy look. Get the hint?" He nudged D'Eon mischievously. D'Eon grunted as he adjusted his moustache.

"I haven't seen Natalia. She might have gone look for Etienne… That redhead captain has duties at the palace tonight," Robbie added. "Being a captain is no fun, is it? I mean, it's not as though he even wants to chitchat with those ladies-in-waiting." Etienne's honest and gentlemanly nature had made him the butt of Robbie's japes. And it did not help when Robbie found out the young captain nursed a secret crush on the queen. Etienne had punched Robbie once when the latter suggested he and Her Majesty quit prancing about each other over those long-drawn teas and adjourn to the bed. D'Eon was thankful Sir Michel had intervened before the pair got round to duelling.

* * *

"Milien, this is unlike you but I do not see why you should not accompany me," the duke thoughtfully adjusted his wig. His young clerk had already dressed himself in the somewhat outlandish garments of a Russian Cossack. His blond hair was dyed a dark walnut brown and all but tucked under a heavy fur cap. Balls and parties were not really the young man's scene. The colonists would also be attending and the duke could use all the help he could get with their guests during the royal interview. There was some talk that their guests intended to come in Red Indian getup. Tomahawks would have to be confiscated though.

Milien walked out of the room and encountered Robespierre standing on the stairs. "You will be going to the ball, aren't you? To stand by Franklin and the others when they present their request before the king?"

Milien nodded. "You have daggers and a pistol in that tunic of yours…" Robespierre's sharp eyes notice the tell-tale bulge in the lad's clothes. "Hand them over… you are not going to harm the king in front of the entire court," he hissed his warning. Milien shrugged and handed his weapons to his guardian. Only the royal guards and those of noble rank would be allowed to carry swords at the ball.

Franklin walked out of a nearby room with his fellow colonists, many of whom were already clad in what they called the Macaroni style. To Robespierre, it appeared that they were making at quiet jab at the excesses of the French court. Never had so much gold braid been crammed onto fabric of such shocking hues. Their over-powdered wigs and faces reinforced the image of a group of wastrel Old World nobles. A few had donned Red Indian regalia with feathered headbands. The delegation's leader, Franklin, had chosen to wear his plain Quaker garments of black and white. He was wigless. With his greying hair and eyeglasses, he reminded Robespierre of some wise owl.

"Mister Franklin, the coach and horses await," Milien peeled away from Robespierre's side and loped down stairs to usher the guests out the door.

* * *

"Etienne! Should we wear the pink or the violet?" Etienne diligently kept his eyes glued to the portrait of Louis XIV as Her Majesty's voice rang out petulantly. The maids were helping her get dressed and he did not see why he should be required to give his opinion on her costume. Her Majesty had become enamoured of the pastoral style of late and intended to go as a shepherdess. There was a small lamb nosing Etienne in the knee as he waited. His Majesty would be coming as a king, King Louis XIV, the Sun King of France to be exact. The royal couple would be horribly mismatched at the ball.

"Captain, Her Majesty asked you a question…" the head maid of the Queen's wardrobe reminded. "Which dress should she wear?"

"The pink," Etienne bleated. "You weren't looking…" Her Majesty laughed as she surprised him with a hand on his shoulder. Etienne glanced once at her before looking away. Marie Antoinette was still in her dressing gown. With her fair hair tumbling over her bosom, she was like an ethereal nymph. For a moment, he felt annoyed. Why could she not be as dignified as Nat? Then it passed when she giggled musically.

"The pink it will be! Which flowers should I wear now in my hair? Roses or these little purple flowers?" she asked in her quaintly accented French. "The purple ones," Etienne replied. "Hear that? Dress my hair with those what 'do-you-call-them's?" the queen snapped impatiently.

"The potato flowers it will be then," the maid replied with a hint of disdain. Etienne almost spluttered in shock. Potatoes from the New World had been introduced to France recently as a possible food crop. Many landowners still considered it an unworthy weed. The flowers were small and unassuming pale blossoms in the spun gold of the queen's hair. The captain thought the tiny blooms would have gone well with Nat's fair tresses.

* * *

He hated balls. The mindless gossip, the cloying scent of over-perfumed bodies crammed into a ballroom lit by burning candles. He always felt trapped and awkward under such circumstances. D'Eon sipped at his wine. Sir Michel had excused himself barely an hour into the ball. The king and queen spent most of their time on their thrones. Etienne lingered close by. His one-time student looked resplendent in his starched white uniform. Robbie was surrounded by a knot of young women hanging on to his tales of derring-do. Robbie wore his shirt open at the chest, looking every bit the daring adventurer.

"Your Majesty," the Duke of Orleans bowed before the king. "May I present Monsieur Benjamin Franklin and his delegation from the Americas?" Auguste nodded his acknowledgement and waved Franklin forward.

"May I present you with a humble token from the Americas, sire," Franklin held out a striking pelt of racoon fur. "You are not in costume, are you?" Auguste noted dryly.

"No, sire…" Franklin admitted. A page boy took the pelt from him and brought it before the king. Auguste touched the sleek fur before handing over his valet. Such humble gifts did not interest him.

"Perhaps you would like to entertain us with some magic tricks or something?" Auguste yawned and waved him away. The audience was coming to a fruitless end. "Forgive me, sire… perhaps you would like to see a fine example of frontier marksmanship?" Franklin bowed. Auguste leaned forward and rested his chin on his laced fingers. Like his father, Auguste was slightly on the plump side. The throne creaked as he shifted his weight.

"Coon is a skilled marksman. If you will kindly provide him with a suitable firearm, he could shoot this apple off my head," Franklin suggested. With a deft flick of his wrist, he produced an apple from thin air, much to the amusement of the courtiers. "Very well then… Captain, arm a musket and hand it to Mister Coon," King Louis clapped his hands.

"Captain Coon if you will, sire. And I have taken the liberty of bringing my Kentucky rifle," Captain Coon yawned languidly as he stepped forward. A battered pipe hung at the corner of his mouth. He was clad as a frontiersman and had a battered firearm that seemed impossible to work. It was longer than a musket and seemed to have been re-joined in several places. D'Eon was reminded of an older version of young Robbie and could not help wondering if the man was related. He did not get to ponder long before Franklin took up a position by an open window so that no one was standing behind him and placed the apple gingerly on his head. The crowd of nobles hushed and moved away so that there was a clear path from the marksman and his target. Coon lowered the rifle and let fly a single shot that reduced the apple to chunks.

"Bravo, Captain Coon," Robbie bounded over for a closer look at the firearm. "You are a darned sharp shot with that."

"As are most of us frontiersmen, lad," the captain laughed heartily as the guests applauded his shot. "My father was an exiled convict and my mother an Indian squaw who lived in the hills. They weren't fancy folk but they did well enough for me to become a sea captain. Not bad for the son of a common thief, don't you agree?"

"We also have some talent of our own in France!" a countess called out. "We have the best swordsmen in all Europe and the New World, where's old Master Teillagory's students? It's a pity the old knight passed on so soon… we could have them show off a bit." There was a small shuffling sound as a number of D'Eon's fellow students hid behind their fellow guests. The sword had fallen out of favour in the past years and many nobles had neglected their fencing skills. D'Eon was wondering if he could disappear behind a large drape when his musketeer outfit caught the attention of the king.

Louis XVI laughed out loud. "Well, we see D'Eon de Beaumont is here tonight. We could have a demonstration of the finest fencing talent. Captain Etienne, would you do the honours?"

"As you wish, sire…" Etienne took his sword from his belt. There was a concerned look on his face. D'Eon's right hand was unable to hold a sword and he was still learning how to use his left hand to fence with. _Should he purposely yield to save his teacher public humiliation? _D'Eon fumbled trying to draw his sword. Out of habit, he had worn his sword on his left hip, making it extremely awkward to draw.

Surprisingly, it was Robbie who stepped up, easing the sword from D'Eon's scabbard.

"Monsieur Etienne, surely it is too much to ask Sir D'Eon to fence in that old-fashioned tunic. You may as well as ask him to fence in a gown! I have the honour of taking a few lessons under Sir D'Eon back in old London, often when our poor knight is in his cups. Would you care to see who is the better swordsman, a French captain or a London gutter rat? Why are you hesitating, monsieur? Are you so lily-livered that you haven't the guts to accept a challenge from a mere peasant like me?" Robbie taunted.

"I accept your challenge, my good man," Etienne glanced over to the royal couple. The king waved him on. The queen looked a little concerned. Robbie tested the sword carefully, feeling its weight as if he had not handled one recently. D'Eon knew it was an act. "Robbie, be good now… go easy on him…" he whispered to his student in English. Robbie winked impishly as he took a swig from a wine glass before handing it back to a nearly-swooning young lady.

"On guard!" Etienne announced. The pair of duellists took their positions. The air crackled with nervous excitement. With a swift movement, both youths lunged at each other. Their swordsmanship was impeccable, the fight fierce. However, it soon became clear that Robbie was gaining the upper hand. Agile and energetic, Robbie danced circles about his opponent, nipping in to attack and leaping clear before Etienne could counter-attack. It was not long before Etienne's uniform sported several rents while a smiling Robbie was seemly untouched.

Robbie had no qualms taunting his opponent to impair his judgement. "Oh, did you learn to fence from your sister, Monsieur? Because I know a French filly who could fence better than you!" Robbie tossed an insult as he bit into a peach he had skewered on his blade when he somersaulted over the dining table. "Get down here and fight honestly, you knave!" a red-faced Etienne roared. Robbie had gained a position on top of a flight of stairs, which put his opponent at a distinct disadvantage.

"Don't listen to him, Etienne," D'Eon warned. His warning did not stop Etienne from attempting to charge at Robbie up the stairs. Robbie simply dodged Etienne's blade and swung out with his leg, knocking the hapless captain's legs out from under him. Etienne tumbled spectacularly down the stairs. This time, Her Majesty actually let out a shriek of alarm. A number of the nobles were actually laughing at the poor captain as he picked himself up.

"Etienne, allow me…" Milien snatched Etienne's sword out of his reach before he could grab it. "I will not stand by and watch a friend be humiliated by some Englishman." He had had enough. D'Eon did not recognise the Cossack who had joined the fray.

Milien's attack caught Robbie off-guard. Robbie hissed as Milien's blade drew blood. "Good play, sir. Who might you be?" Robbie asked as blood beaded on his sleeve from his wounded arm.

"I'm just a mere clerk in the household of the Duke of Orleans, and I will defend the honour of France against a foreigner like you," Milien replied tartly. The manner he handled his blade was confident and unhurried.

"Aw, I thought you nobles would not stoop to ganging up like this on me," Robbie tossed Etienne an accusing look. "Well, Etienne. Grab a sword and join in the fun. All the better, right?"

Someone tossed a sword across the room, which Etienne deftly caught. "Wait a while, Mister Pirate. One against two is not fair. Perhaps we should even up the odds," a familiar voice called out. It was Natalia. "As you wish, mademoiselle," Robbie bowed low so that his feathered hat swept the floor.

Natalia had come dressed as a pirate, a femme fatale of a pirate in a red vest and breeches with knee-high boots. D'Eon gasped. The resemblance to Lia was uncanny. "On guard!" she raised her sword to her lips and kissed on the hilt. The four duellists took up their positions in the centre of the now-vacated dance floor. There was a momentary pause before the duel began. The four young people clashed in a medley of clashing blades and lightning-fast footwork.

**Author's Notes:**

Potatoes came to Europe from the New World. Initially, it was ignored as a food crop by most European nations. In France, it was only during Louis XVI's reign that the French started promoting it in their nation as a food crop, with the royal seal of approval. Queen Marie Antoinette did wear potato flowers in her hair at a royal ball to show the royal support for the new crop.

D'Eon's students are provided a bit of entertainment after the colonists have made their impression.


	47. Battle Royale

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 47 – Battle Royale **

Against Etienne, Robbie had the upper hand. Against Milien, it was a different matter. The manner of his new opponent was different. The dark-haired clerk was fencing with a deadly intensity which Robbie's half-teasing moves were no match for. Indeed, blood had already been drawn. Etienne and Natalia had settled into a more controlled form of fencing that allowed Etienne to regain his breath after the hectic session with Robbie.

D'Eon's heart almost dropped to his boots when the Duke's clerk stabbed at Robbie. Robbie was just barely able to twist his body to avoid taking the full thrust of the blade in his chest. It did slice open the side of his shirt and nick the skin a bit. Sensing her companion floundering, Natalia disengaged from her more cordial and proper match with Etienne to assist Robbie. "Allow me to be your opponent, monsieur!" she cried out. She lunged at the clerk, who leapt clear. This left Robbie open to pursue his attack on Etienne.

"Bravo, Natalia," the king cried out and clapped his hands in admiration as Natalia parried her opponent's blow. Their blades locked at the hilt then the pair leaped apart. There was a harsh cry of alarm as Etienne's sword flew into the air and landed somewhere amidst the food on the table. Robbie had gained the upper hand in his match with Etienne, forcing him into surrender against the dining table with the point of a blade at his throat.

"I yield!" Etienne shouted. He knew the futility of his situation. When Robbie accepted and out away his blade, Etienne plucked out his sword from a capon it had skewered.

The outcome of the duel between the captain of the palace guards and the Englishman only increased the intensity of the duel between Natalia and her opponent. D'Eon could not help wondering where he seen the clerk before. It was an odd feeling which he could not place. The pair moved in tandem, thrusting, slashing and parrying. Their blades passed within inches of each other. A sense of foreboding washed over D'Eon. "Stop!" he shouted.

The pair did not heed his warning. Milien's blade brushed against Natalia's neck, tearing the lace cravat from her throat. It exposed the ugly scar on her neck. Natalia's blade stabbed through her opponent's shirt and into the panelling behind him, but it missed skewering his flesh by the barest inch. The colour left the clerk's face and he went quite pale.

"STOP! This is quite enough!" King Louis XVI commanded. He rose from his throne and walked over to the combatants. Milien apologetically lowered his sword and muttered a hasty apology. Like Natalia, he was panting heavily from his exertions.

"A most spectacular piece of swordsmanship by Lady Natalia…" the king pointedly ignored the clerk but smiled at Natalia. Feeling self-conscious, Natalia held her hand over the ugly scar on her throat. The king gently took her hand in his. "A duelling scar, my dear?" he asked gently.

Natalia nodded. "An accident, when I was very young." She flushed crimson. Milien loped off to join his defeated pal. Robbie had gathered the attentions of a young marquise and was making a silent getaway to a more private part of the palace with her in tow.

"Fencing is unbecoming for women of good birth…" Her Majesty sniffed. She was still smarting from the inglorious defeat of her favourite and Louis XVI ignoring her at the ball. Natalia dropped a curtsy. Marie Antoinette glared at her. "Indeed, such exercises do little for a woman's beauty," she sniped. "How dark your looks are! One would think you ride horses instead of owning a carriage."

"I confess that I am exceedingly fond of riding horses, Your Majesty," Natalia replied. "I have been more often in the saddle than in a carriage since I was a child in Russia."

"Your Majesty, must you confer a title on such a wild girl from goodness-knows-where? Whatever will the people think?" Marie Antoinette protested to her husband. The king only laughed. "Lady Natalia is of French noble blood. Her unique interests only add to her charm. We would like to consider her for the post of royal tutor or governess when the day comes…" In a huff, the queen stormed off. It was clear to all present from the way the king stroked Natalia's hand that he was considering a post other than that of royal tutor for the lady.

* * *

D'Eon fled for the reassuring safety of the gardens only to find Robbie and his lady companion in a rather compromising position in a gazebo. "Damn it, Robbie. Are you set to deflower every noble's daughter?" he chided as the red-faced girl grabbed her garments and fled into the shadows at his approach. Robbie yawned and stretched. "She just wanted to help me with my wounds… one thing led to another… you know?" The Englishman grabbed his trousers and pulled them on.

"_Oh, I can't possibly…"_

"_It's a small token of my appreciation…"_ Voices drifted into the gazebo. Natalia and the king. D'Eon peered out through the latticework. It was dark and he could just make out the silhouettes of the pair on the nearby balcony.

"_Auguste, it is lovely…"_ Natalia relented and allowed Auguste to fasten a piece of jewellery about her neck. It was choker of fiery-red rubies. D'Eon gasped in amazement. It must have cost a good part of the royal treasury. "Indeed, they suit you, my dear Natalia… Marie is far too pale for such a vivid hue," Auguste kissed her lightly on the back of her hand.

"You know, Auguste… she is your queen after all… perhaps you should return to…" Despite her protest, Natalia allowed Auguste to lead her down the stairs into the rose garden.

The couple made their way down to the path. Robbie tugged on D'Eon's sleeve before he could emerge from the gazebo. They should watch in silence what Natalia and her companion were up to. It might be awkward if they were discovered. Auguste was getting a bit too familiar with Natalia. For starters, they were not chaperoned. There was no sign of any attendants with them. Robbie clenched his fists when he saw the king slip an arm around Natalia's slender waist. Her pirate costume only flattered her lovely curves. D'Eon had to restrain Robbie.

"Your Majesty. My apologies, Her Majesty is indisposed and would like to end the ball early…" To D'Eon's relief, Etienne and the duke's clerk came running down the path. Auguste gave an annoyed look at the pair as Natalia drew away from him. Etienne was accompanied by a number of royal attendants and guards. "Your Majesty… it is late and dark out here… we should go with you…" Etienne added. The party made their way back to the ballroom.

"You should ask Etienne about that clerk… he was all out to kill me and he didn't go easy on Natalia too," Robbie said when they finally left the gazebo. _Yes, the clerk looked awfully familiar._ D'Eon was oddly reminded of his nightmare. When he stepped back into the ballroom, he received a tremendous shock.

* * *

"His Majesty has granted La Baronne Natalia rooms within the palace… who is this La Baronne? Some courtesan or an adventuress? Come on, Mil… I hear you were at the ball when the king made that- Argh!" Camile winced as he pulled his hand away, thankful to still possess all his fingers. Milien was in a foul mood. His dagger quivered in the wooden countertop where Camile's hand had been moments before.

"I believe our dear Mil has fallen for La Baronne's charms too. I saw the way you went at her at the ball… you even accompanied the captain when he went to look for His Majesty and her… There is something sexy about fencing, the thin line between life and death…" Francois drawled. The late spring shower was turning the streets into mud. It was miserable weather.

"Drop it, Francois… just because your wife smells of the morgue from her work and you like that, it does not mean other men like that too…" Camile cut in. Francois' idea of a stuffed mouse as an anniversary gift did not go well with Camile's wife. "Well, we are talking about someone who was caught with a young lady on a cardinal's casket," Francois shrugged. "Besides, I like my Annamarie for her natural perfume, not any rosewater or whatever they use on those corpses to keep them fresh-looking." He ducked as Milien swung out at him with a fist.

"There is a rumour that La Baronne is the bastard offspring of a certain disgraced chevalier and some Russian whore and he means to use her to secure a pension from the king after falling out of favour so long ago," Camile added. He ducked when Milien lobbed his dagger at him. "Well, he wouldn't be the first! You know nobles… they would offer up their own wives and daughters for a promotion… Right, Master Robespierre?"

The redhead looked up from his pamphlet. "Well, it is possible… considering that the chevalier is crippled. Mil, De Beaumont did not fence at the ball, did he?"

"No," Milien sullenly admitted. "If this is Chevalier de Beaumont we are speaking of, he must have fallen on really hard times…" Camile admitted. He remembered D'Eon as a decent and honourable man.

"Whatever Lady Natalia is up to with the king, Sir D'Eon is not supportive of," a voice announced from a dim corner of the tavern. The revolutionaries turned to see Robbie crouched over a contraption of wood and rope. The rope suspended an axe blade over a withered carrot. Robbie released the rope but the blade jammed before it hit the carrot.

"Who are you and what are you up to?" Milien challenged the Englishman. "Ah, Monsieur Clerk… we meet again," Robbie grinned impishly. "I am Robbie and I am inventing a little device that would make amputations swift and as painless as possible… after seeing that my former master may be due for one once those colonists are done trying to fix up his hand… I believe I can hear his screams all the way from the Duke's place." Robbie made a show of listening intently.

"I will call Dr Guillotine for the job. He does the quickest amputations…" Francois suggested. "So Sir D'Eon is going to try to fix up his hand even though he may lose it or even his life?"

"If it stops his niece from becoming the biggest courtesan in Versailles…" Robbie shrugged and reset his device. This time the blade sliced the carrot in two. D'Eon had not taken Natalia's decision to move into the palace well, even more so when the proposed rooms were just across the hall from the king's bedchamber. Everyone knew the queen lived in Petit Trianon, which the king hardly visited. There had been a terrific row despite Sir Michel's best efforts to keep the peace. Natalia had packed her stuff and left in a carriage despite D'Eon's pleas.

* * *

"_Uncle, it is all for the best…"Natalia said as she tied on her bonnet. _

"_Natalia! Don't!" he had shouted as he rushed out into the pouring rain. A royal footman was helping Natalia into the royal carriage. "It is a royal decree, I have to go…" Natalia replied coldly. "Everything would be alright… I'll be back soon…"_

"_No, it wouldn't! That was exactly what your mother told me before she…" D'Eon stepped into a muddy pothole and stumbled. The carriage trundled off. _

D'Eon awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. His right hand throbbed and was swathed in bandages. The room swam around his head when he sat up.

"Easy now… you lost a good deal of blood…" Sir Michel said. The old knight was seated in a chair by the window. "Sir Michel, where am I?" D'Eon asked.

"In my guestroom," the duke of Orleans announced as he stepped into the room. "They had to stop the operation as you were losing too much blood. Fortunately, I now see that we do not require a priest. You have been here for a week since you showed up at my door half-drowned in the rain and apparently half out of your senses by the decampment of your niece to His Majesty's boudoir." D'Eon groaned as the memory came back. He had handled the situation badly.

He recalled running after the carriage and losing it in the rain. Then he called on the inn to learn that the colonists were at the duke's for dinner. He had struggled on through the rain to the duke's where he had actually fought with the duke's manservants when the duke and his dinner guests came running from the study to see what was going on. "You scared my wife, Sir D'Eon. I would appreciate it if you apologised to her later when she bring your meal," the duke said. "Knowing you were staying with Sir Michel, I sent my manservant to him after you collapsed during the operation. The doctor managed to separate your thumb and forefinger but he is unable to say if you will be able to use them…"

"Does Natalia…" D'Eon groaned and settled back into his pillows.

"No. You were raving with the fever and insisted on keeping your condition from the children," Sir Michel replied. "However, Robbie caught on to what was going on. He showed up with a doctor and Francois. He was asking if you would improve if we just took off your hand."

"Where's Natalia?" D'Eon asked. The operation was sheer torture, despite the brandy he had been plied with beforehand. He vaguely recalled Captain Coon and several other men holding him down in a sturdy armchair as the doctor worked his scalpel through his flesh. He had been given a length of rope to bite on. Franklin had started praying sometime during the procedure when the blood kept pouring. D'Eon could recall the man whispering the words of prayer in English and later in French beside his ear. His condition must have been so dire then that Franklin thought the knight was dying.

"La Baronne Natalia is attending a recital with His Majesty and I do believe that for once, Her Majesty is actually concerned that she is being replaced," Milien stepped into the room. "I also hear that she has brought to His Majesty's attention some price-fixing by the Count of Normandy with regards to the sudden spikes in the price of wheat and some irregularities in the taxes from the south. The widows of the 6th regiment from the former colonies will be awarded their overdue pension from the crown… In all, sir, she has the king's ear in a way no other woman has had before."

"Thank god for that. A woman who has the good sense to guide him in the matters of state," the duke declared. Milien did not smile. He exchanged glances with D'Eon and D'Eon could see the clerk was bothered as well.

"I must prepare my proposal for a school for the public…" the duke hurried out.

"Have we met somewhere before?" D'Eon asked the clerk. Milien shrugged. He was wearing his wig and his clerk's clothes. "Yes, sir. At the masquerade, where I tried my utmost to kill your English manservant," he replied cryptically. "I do believe I have left him tied up downstairs in the cellar with the rats after sending the doctor and Francois on their way," he grinned wickedly.

"Sir Michel! Sir D'Eon! That dog tried to feed me to the rats in the cellar!" an enraged Robbie thundered into the room. Strands of broken rope clung to his chafed wrists and ankles. He yelped and reached into his pants to extract a squirming rat. "I thought their company might suit you, gutter rat…" Milien replied wickedly. "I wonder, does La Baronne Natalia really love His Majesty or is she…"

"Take that back! Natalia would never go with anyone unless they really mean something to her!" Robbie launched himself at Milien.

"Sure, like rubies, pearls, diamonds…" Milien taunted. "Gems don't mean anything to her!" Robbie protested. "She's not like other noble girls…"

"He is right. Like Lia, she is doing it for France and she really feels for him…" D'Eon groaned and buried his face in his pillow. Natalia would be hurt, like Lia was. Sir Michel was left to separate both young men as they wrestled on the floor. Milien's wig was sent flying as Robbie tore out a clump of blond hair from his opponent's scalp. Robbie yelped as the annoyed clerk kneed him in the groin.

**Author's Notes:**

Surprisingly, D'Eon has not recognized Milien yet. It seems official now Natalia is Royal Mistress. And she is making her presence felt politically. In the anime, both Queen Marie and the royal mistress Madame Pompadour tried to influence the politics of France to some extent. More animosity between Milien and Robbie.

The odd thing about 18th century France is that is almost expected for the King to have royal mistresses. The Queens are normally princesses from other countries and the French people normally expect the Royal Mistress to be French and speak for the French people. Sadly, this often does not ring true. The French normally tend to be suspicious or even hostile to their queens in most cases, especially if the motive behind the match was openly political. Marie Antoinette was considered an outsider as she was Austrian and rumours about her overspending and indiscretions did little to improve her image.


	48. Royal Mistress

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 48 - Royal Mistress**

"Auguste…" Natalia stroked the face of her sleeping lover. "Mama… please, a little longer…" Auguste murmured in his sleep. Natalia giggled and tickled the sleeping king's nose with a long feather.

"Atchoo!" Auguste sneezed. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he opened his eyes. "Natalia… Good morning… how did you get past the guards?" He pulled the covers off and sat up.

"Easy, I got in through the window," Natalia laughed and spun around. She was dressed in a man's shirt and breeches. However, she wore her ruby choker around her neck instead of a cravat. The top of her shirt was open enough to reveal the tops of her breasts. Her hair was left free and flowing down her shoulders. She sat down on the bed beside the king. "Shall we go riding today? Paris is a good place to visit, incognito of course…"

"Er, we don't know…"

"I have not seen Uncle for a week… Neither has Etienne since he has been busy at Petit Trianon lately helping Her Majesty with her play… perhaps we should go watch the play too," Natalia kissed Auguste on the lips. "We have been so busy recently, meeting with the nobles, going through the bills and writs… and the coming meeting with the Austrian ambassador."

"Natalia. That is why we dislike being king. Duties, duties."

"We all have our duties to France and to God, your Majesty. Speaking of which, you have to attend the ball at the Austrian embassy with your queen. Her brother, the archduke of Austria will be there."

"Natalia, we wish you were my queen. We have nothing in common with Marie Antoinette at all," Auguste took Natalia's hands in his.

"You will grow to love her," Natalia shrugged sadly, smiled and looked up at a pair of portraits on the wall which showed Auguste's parents. "Just as your parents did. Their marriage was arranged as well, wasn't it?"

"I was very young when Mama died," Auguste said sadly. "I barely remember her. They say she was poisoned by an unknown assassin. Our dearest attendant Lady Anna was murdered by the same assassin. There was a knight then who promised us to find the one responsible for their deaths… but the truth is too terrible to bear even now. That knight cannot punish the one responsible because he is none other than our father, then king of France. Why did Father kill Mother? He was so sad afterwards…"

"The tragedy is that Louis XV did not realise how much he loved her until she was gone… just as my poor uncle did not realise how much Anna or Yvette meant to him until it was too late," Natalia mused.

"That is why we refuse to make the same mistake as our father. We will not lose you, Natalia," Auguste hugged Natalia fiercely.

"What about Marie?"

"She has yet to produce any heir to the throne…"

"So am I to provide you with sons, Auguste?" Natalia teased. "Poor uncle will be horrified!" Still, her mischievous fingers worked their way over the king's nightshirt…

* * *

"We really should tell Natalia about her uncle," Etienne said as he walked along a garden path. His friend was silent. Milien had been deep in thought ever since the masquerade ball. The redhead had been surprised and shocked to learn that his teacher had been ill at the duke's manor after a failed operation. D'Eon was embarrassed and discomfited when Etienne went to see him. The captain would never have known if his friend had not told him.

Milien stopped suddenly and looked up at a tree. "Lend me your sword…" he whispered.

When Etienne obliged, Milien shimmied a short way up the tree and thrust the blade upwards into the leaves. There was a loud yelp and Robbie tumbled off his perch and into a bush.

"What the hell was that for?" Robbie bellowed his rage as he nursed a scratch on his calf. "I'm doing my duty to France by shaking an English spy out of a tree and I'll further carry out my duties by sticking this sword in your sneaky little heart," Milien replied without missing a beat.

"Lord, Mil! I'm sure there's a good reason why Sir D'Eon's servant is up a tree…" Etienne tried to restrain his companion. "You were bird-watching or something, right, Robbie?"

"I saw Mademoiselle Natalia climbing into a window and I wanted to have a look at whose room that is," Robbie replied. He pointed at one of the windows. Etienne and Milien froze when they saw it was the king's bedchamber.

"Do you need a spyglass?" Robbie fished out his spyglass from the bushes. "I got quite a view of her, as bare as Venus…" he swallowed hard. Watching Natalia shedding her garments was something he felt surprisingly guilty about, even though he had grown up in a bordello with women in various states of undress running about.

"No, that is His Majesty's chamber… we shouldn't…" Etienne protested. Then he turned pale, as did Milien. "Master D'Eon will not be pleased one bit…" Etienne moaned.

* * *

"Let's see, you have to visit Paris with Her Majesty… then attend the ball at Austrian embassy… I hoped I didn't wear you out too much, Auguste…" Natalia raked her fingers through her dishevelled tresses. That was surprisingly enjoyable, even though she felt a little sore. Now she could see why Robbie kept disappearing with various milkmaids into the barn back in England.

"Oh, must I?" her royal lover moaned. "Are you leaving so soon?"

"I'll drop by tonight… No, perhaps you should spend tonight with Her Majesty. You could sire a royal heir on her, if you are lucky," Natalia teased. She pulled a reluctant Auguste out of bed. "Do I need to dress you as well, sire?" She stared at the rumpled and slightly blood-stained sheets. Auguste looked regretfully at the aftermath of their lovemaking. Natalia was no longer a virgin. That was really going to affect any marriage plans her guardians might have in store.

"About your fiancé…" Auguste started. The least he could do was to make sure that she married respectably well. He heard that there was an engagement of sorts between Sir Rochefort's son and her.

"Etienne? It will never work out between us…" Natalia shrugged. She tugged the sheets loose. She had heard of the practice of displaying the bloodied nuptial sheets as proof of a bride's chastity. It was an old custom which was still carried out in some parts. She wondered if that was what was bothering Auguste. "You need not worry about Rochefort. He wouldn't be flapping any sheets from his window, even if we do get married," Natalia said. Bundling up the sheets in her arms, she strode defiantly over to the open window.

"Lord! Natalia, what the…" Etienne balked at the sight of a naked Natalia standing at the open window with the sheets clutched to her chest and her ruby choker at her throat. "Get thee to a convent!" A red-faced Milien shouted as his redhead companion gaped like a stunned goldfish. Robbie kept his face straight as he spoke. "Sir D'Eon will not be pleased if he learns of this, my lady. Seeing he is laid up ill at the duke's while you are playing at being a courtesan." Natalia glared at the three young men below the window. In a huff, she threw the stained sheet down at them.

"Robbie! What do you mean by Uncle D'Eon's laid up? What happened to him?" she shouted, arms on her hips and still naked apart from her jewellery. Having dressed, Auguste hurried over with a robe to cover her modesty. It was not proper for a lady, royal mistress or not, to be standing naked at an open window for any passers-by to gawk at.

The sheet landed on Robbie and Milien. It was Etienne who replied. "He met up with a surgeon to have his bad hand fixed. Then he came down with a fever from the operation…" He did not finish before Natalia was gone from the window. Milien and Robbie wriggled free of the sheets.

"I'm surprised that she kept her chastity that long with you about her," Milien could not resist a snipe at Robbie. He needed something to take the edge off the shock of learning his sister had been bedded by the king.

"Hell, I don't go after every skirt I see, especially if that skirt is Natalia de Beaumont. She'll have me filleted like a mackerel faster than I can snap my fingers. I guess being king does have some benefits… So, do I start hunting for convents for Sir D'Eon to put his niece in now?" Robbie replied. "Or do we marry her off to our captain here before any royal bastards get born out of wedlock? The chastity of noblewomen is a tad overrated…"

"This coming from a whore's brat and a gutter-rat…" Milien jibed.

The brewing argument was cut short by Natalia joining them. She had clearly dressed in a hurry. She had neglected to wear a corset under her shirt and her hair was in disarray. Her stockings were not properly buttoned up. "Take me to Uncle D'Eon now," she demanded as she latched onto Robbie's arm, digging her fingers in so that he understood that she would brook no delay.

"Get dressed properly first, lest Sir D'Eon thinks his manservant tried to have his wicked way with you behind his back," Milien added as an afterthought. Natalia stared at the clerk. He looked awfully familiar, even with his hair hidden under a wig… _Max_. Milien acknowledged the recognition in her eyes with a slight nod.

"Natalia, do you need us to send a coach?" Auguste bleated from his window above. "No, you should really go to Paris with Her Majesty!" Natalia replied. "You have to listen to the people!" she added. The royalty needed to hear the voice of the French people, before it was too late.

* * *

"Uncle D'Eon!" D'Eon looked up from his book in shock at that voice. Natalia threw herself through the open door, into the bed and hugged him. "I'm sorry! I should have been here sooner…" she glared at a sheepish Robbie.

"I'm fine now, Natalia…" D'Eon patted her hair fondly. He looked carefully at her. "Natalia, is that a new dress? And that ruby choker…" The ruby choker was the same one His Majesty have given her on the night of the ball.

"They're a gift from His Majesty, Auguste…" Natalia replied.

"Be careful, Natalia… you know that he is already married to Her Majesty…" D'Eon said softly. He could not fault her for loving the king. "I know, uncle… perhaps I will be hurt. But I still love him," Natalia sighed. It was then that D'Eon noticed the Duke of Orleans' sullen clerk loitering at the door. There was a look of venom on his face that was unpleasantly familiar. The clerk walked away.

"Shall we bring forward the wedding between Etienne and Natalia, Sir D'Eon?" Robbie asked. "Or would a convent be more suitable?" D'Eon blanched.

"Sorry, uncle… I did not act in a manner worthy of a de Beaumont," Natalia said. "It's alright, Natalia," D'Eon replied. Whatever happened, she was still his niece. Natalia would not survive the cloister. She was too free-spirited for to spend her days shut away in prayer. "I must have a word with Franklin and the colonists…" Natalia said thoughtfully as she studied her uncle's bandaged hand. "You should let me use the psalms to heal this instead of having them butcher it…" she chided.

* * *

"Mil, what news do you bring from Versailles?" the duke asked as his clerk stepped into his study. "His Majesty would hear the colonists out. There is a high chance France will aid them in their little struggle for liberty against the English crown," Milien replied. "La Barone Natalia has been bedded by His Majesty," he paused in his report and clenched his fists.

"You feel something for this young lady, do you?" the duke asked. His employer was unbelievably perceptive at times. "No, sir…" Milien lied.

"You do bear a resemblance to her. Perhaps she's your kinswoman?" he prodded gently.

"No, sir. I have no family besides Master Robespierre…"

"Ah, Robespierre. A charming and eloquent gentleman. You have a remarkable guardian, Mil. If only he would refrain from instigating the others. It is difficult enough keeping Camile from arrest," the duke said. "Jean Paul is worse than Robespierre…"

"I agree with you, sir. Perhaps I could arrange an accident for him?" Milien asked. He still had a score to settle with that poet with regards to Yvette's death and Master's Robespierre's injury. The duke chuckled and shook his head. "Let him be for now. There has to be better ways than a sword to solve that problem."

**Author's Notes:**

Milien and Robbie are like a pair of angry dogs. Natalia has gone all the way with Auguste while D'Eon has been invalided at the Duke of Orleans'. The new duke is a different character from the one in the anime. He does not believe in using violence to solve problems, even if it is a troublesome poet.


	49. Spy and Dagger

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 49 – Spy and Dagger**

"Natalia, my dear baroness… I don't know how we can thank you enough…" Franklin bowed before Natalia as the last of the colonists left the royal audience hall. "It was nothing…" Natalia replied. She was just as relieved as Franklin that all had gone so well given the blunt tongues of some of the delegation and General La Fayette's suspicions.

"General La Fayette as advisor, a whole regiment and the navy…" Franklin gushed. "And the best part is that Washington and our French general will get along like a house on fire given their love for hunting hounds. And you managed to convince him to take along his hunting dogs."

"It's all for liberty and equality, sir…" Natalia smiled. "The important thing is what you," she paused to let her blue-green eyes run over the assembled men. "Make of your New World." The fires of idealism were blazing in every heart she could see. She prayed that her gamble would pay off.

"No kings in the Americas, that's one for sure," Captain Coon laughed. "You were practically leading him to agree, weren't you?" the captain let his voice drop a notch or two. Natalia simply shrugged.

"Natalia, my dear lady. You have grown up indeed from the little girl in breeches I recall back in London… Do you still fence with that pageboy of your uncle's? You're as tough as any man in the colonies… You could go far there…" Franklin added wistfully. He patted her on the shoulder.

Natalia giggled. "Are you trying to entice me to join your cause too, sir? I am afraid I must turn you down as a loyal Frenchwoman. And please turn my uncle down if he approaches you again for that surgery on his hand."

"My dear, I will not judge your relationship with His Majesty. Indeed, who can judge love?" Franklin replied. "Rest assured our surgeon will not be cutting up Sir D'Eon's hand. I will pray for your happiness, my lady, and your uncle's health."

* * *

"The king and queen are visiting Paris? This stinking hellhole? Are pigs flying?" Cagliostro glanced up from his wine. "That woman put him up to it," Lorenza replied. "Which woman?" her inebriated companion asked.

"La Barone Natalia de Beaumont, the misbegotten whelp of that bitch Lia," Lorenza replied. "I hear since she has been bedded by the king, he may be losing interest…"

"Sir D'Eon would have a fit… what's this idle gossip you've been picking up, Lorenza?" Robespierre stepped into the room. Milien had been elected to give a speech to welcome the royal couple on their visit to the University of Paris, which he happened to have studied at. Madame Roland had suggested it to be a good opportunity to bring forward the grievances of the people to the attention of the royal court. The woman had written many letters but they never seemed to bring about any improvements. Camile was too busy dodging arrest as usual and he could not rely on Jean Paul. Planting a bomb under the royal coach would be more in the poet's nature than a peaceful petition.

"Idle gossip? The little tart was seen walking out of the king's bedchamber with little more than a shirt…" Lorenza snorted. Robespierre frowned. "Lorenza, I want this kept from Mil…" He needed to rephrase the charge against a Count who was distantly related to the king. Or he might get arrested for disrespecting the king. There was a lot to work to be done. .

"Too late about that, the little runt was present to witness his sister's leaving the king's bedchamber…" At Lorenza's words, Robespierre dropped his papers. He sprinted up to Milien's room to find his bed empty._ Milien, please do not do anything foolish…_

* * *

Natalia was sitting before her dresser combing her hair when someone seized her wrist. It hurt.

"Max, let me go!" Natalia shrilled. "Lia," Milien shoved her against the wall. He had surprised her in her rooms by gaining access through the secret passages that lined the palace and which his master and Yvette had taught him about. "Hush…" the pair froze as the sound of footsteps sounded outside.

"Is something wrong, Barone?" the guard enquired. "Nothing, just a nightmare…" Natalia lied. They waited till the footfalls died away.

"If you are going to say something about me and the king…" Natalia started. "Sorry, but I have to say this. Lia, what you did was foolish… Louis will lose interest and discard you the same way he has discarded his other mistresses… Still, you are in danger…" Milien hugged his sister fiercely. "The court's talking about how you got Louis XVI to aid the colonists and the royal visit to Paris. I don't want to lose you… Some of the soldiers are not happy about being sent over to the New World…"

"Sorry, Max…" Natalia gasped. She understood her brother was fearful for her. Auguste was still attentive to her but she was aware that could change at any moment. Both court protocol and church dictated that the Austrian princess Marie Antoinette was Auguste's lawfully wedded wife till death do they part. There was no way she, an illegitimate child of dubious parentage could aspire to be Auguste's wife. A good many of the soldiers would be eager to prove themselves in the New World, yet more would be reluctantly torn from their homes for possible death in a foreign land. The thought terrified her.

"He is too weak… even if he loves you, he will not do anything. He is like a puppet with no will of his own. He's not Henry VIII of England or Peter the Great of Russia. Those were men who would defy both Heaven and earth to…" Milien was well-schooled in the history of Europe and politics.

"Max, Henry VIII tore his kingdom apart to marry Anne Boleyn. Peter the Great was a born leader. Auguste does not have that in him, thank heavens. I have no desire to see France torn apart…" Natalia replied tartly. "I love him for his gentle nature… Truth be told, he is too gentle to be a king… Max, please take care of Uncle in my absence. I do wish I could be by his bedside, but I shudder to think how those other nobles might mislead poor Auguste in my absence."

"I know, _bon nuit,_ my dearest sister…" Milien resignedly placed a kiss on Natalia's forehead before retreating into the secret passageway behind the ornate bookshelf. Rattled, Natalia took up her violin and began to play. Behind the bookshelf, Milien listened quietly to the muted melody for a few moments before continuing on his way.

* * *

"Robin!" D'Eon exclaimed when he opened his eyes and saw the redhead seated at the foot of his bed. "How on earth did…"

"I happen to be legal advisor to the Duke of Orleans, and my name's Maximilien Robespierre," Robespierre smiled coldly. "Did the news of your niece being deflowered by His Majesty send you to your sickbed?"

"Where is Maximilien?" D'Eon asked. He sat up and reached for his sword. "Don't bother. He is nearby but he would only show himself to you if needed," Robespierre continued. "Milien is doing well. He is in a trusted position at Versailles and in Paris herself. And within the Order of course." D'Eon's stomach lurched at the thought of his nephew hanging out with revolutionaries and risking arrest by the secret police.

"By the way, you should be moving back to the Rocheforts', or the duke may be asking me to draft a contract of rent next for your use of his guestroom. Milien is in good hands, much better than you fared with his twin sister…" Robespierre tossed a parting shot before striding out, limping slightly from his bad leg.

Milien was waiting for him outside. "Master Robespierre, my speech is ready," he handed the paper to Robespierre. The redhead raised an eyebrow. "You signed it off as me…"

"Maximilien Robespierre is my true name, sir," the blond youth replied. "I shall endeavour to pass the petitions to His Majesty if possible…" Milien looked so awfully earnest that he reminded Robespierre of a certain blond French knight he knew. "Try not to tick off the guards," Robespierre warned.

* * *

A storm was gathering outside. It was an ominous sign for the royal visit. In his parlour, the duke was pacing about as his now expectant duchess stitched a sampler. The pair seemed to sense the uneasiness in the air. Milien stole away to his room and retrieved his precious book from its hiding place. He browsed through the pages quietly. There was something he had to do. Taking a piece of parchment, he wrote a poem onto it. _Lia had given her blessings for the coming revolution in the New World._ _Why shouldn't he?_

Perhaps it would be an experiment, a trial, to see if it were possible for a society to be founded outside the strict hierarchy of royalty, nobles and peasants in the old world. But would what worked in the New World work for society so entrenched in its traditions? Milien paused and listened to the sounds of his uncle bidding farewell to the duke. He gazed out as the first raindrops fell. D'Eon was being helped into a coach by the duke's manservant. Perhaps it was too soon for his uncle to be up.

He sprinted downstairs, passing Robespierre on the stairs. "Milien! Where are you off to?" his master shouted after him.

By the time he reached the door, the coach had gone and D'Eon with it. It was starting to pour with a vengeance. Milien crammed his tri-corner hat onto his blond hair and hunkered down against the wind. He had something he must do.

* * *

In their rooms at the inn, the colonists gazed in awe and gratitude upon the agreement. The king's signature was inked at the bottom of the letter. It was a promise they had spent weeks to win. France has agreed to aid their cause. Tomorrow they would leave for home in the company of the first of the promised French mercenaries. General La Fayette would follow with the rest of the promised soldiers and sailors once he had mustered them. Their leader, Franklin called on all to offer a prayer of thanksgiving and for divine assistance in their endeavour. _"Lord, we thank you for our bread and…"_

Their devotions were interrupted by a knocking at the door. Captain Coon walked over to open the door. "Miss Natalia?" he was surprised to see what appeared to be a bedraggled Natalia standing outside. The visitor's clothes were sodden. Rain plastered blond tresses to his face.

"Get her in quick," Franklin leapt up in alarm. "Wait, you're not Natalia…" Franklin saw that newcomer was clearly male despite the striking resemblance to Natalia. His blond hair was cut shorter than hers and his eyes were a deep violet blue. Still, he called for a towel and ushered their visitor over to the fire to warm up.

"Who are you? Wait, you're the Duke of Orleans' clerk…" Franklin bent down for a closer look at the youth's face. He could not recall the lad's name.

"Here, please…" Milien handed the piece of parchment over to Franklin. Franklin found it surprisingly dry. He then saw the words on it.

"My good man… We do not wish to use poems in our struggle…" he said softly. The likeness to Sir D'Eon's niece was uncanny. "Please, sir… it is a small blessing from us to your cause," Milien replied. He hugged himself and shivered violently. Franklin called for hot tea.

"Very well, my lad. I will accept your blessing," Franklin said. It would never do to annoy the local revolutionaries by snubbing them.

"S-sir, you may wish to consider putting your sharpshooters like Mister Coon to good use," Milien suggested. "Y-you know the straps on the uniforms and the brilliant red colour of British soldiers…"

"Hunting, except our prey would be men," Captain Coon finished. "Pick off the officers, and the men would be in disarray… It's sneaky and ungentlemanly, but it is up to you folks," Milien whispered lowly. "It will take some time for the weapons and men to be mustered and sent to you… you got to make do with what you have till then."

In the next room, an English knight and his young spy eavesdropped on the conversation. Sir William wondered what had happened to convince King Louis XVI to throw his support behind the American revolutionaries. He also wondered at who the mysterious visitor was. Sir D'Eon's niece was clearly a part of it, and possibly the local revolutionaries. "Shall I go out and knife the messenger, sir?" Robbie whispered. He had not thought it necessary to report Natalia's dalliance with the king to Sir William. He drew the line at reporting on the de Beaumonts.

"No, it would not be necessary…" The die had been cast. England was facing open revolt from her New World colonies. He needed to report back to London and he hoped King George would take his report seriously. It would be bloody and ugly. "Robbie?" Sir William looked up to find his student gone.

Robbie fingered the dagger in his belt as he waited in the shadows of the hall. The blond visitor was walking out of the colonists' rooms, alone and unarmed. Their eyes met. "Robbie…" Milien hissed.

"So you are here on the duke's business? Or your own?" Robbie drawled. He dropped his hand away from the dagger as a serving girl bustled past them. "Allow me, miss," Milien smiled charmingly and offered to help the girl with the armful of laundry. The poor girl simpered and nodded. Assured of his escape, Milien smiled, took an armful of laundry and walked away with the girl, leaving a fuming Robbie in his wake. Watching from the doorway of his room, Sir William chuckled. He ducked back into his room lest Franklin should venture out of his room and recognize him from his younger and wilder days in the Hellfire Club.

**Author's Notes:**

Naughty Milien sneaking up on his sister like that. Milien and Natalia are helping Franklin and the colonists in their own ways. Poor D'Eon is really clueless what his niece and nephew are up to while he is laid up.

This is a little nugget from history. When King Louis XVI and his queen visited Paris, a young student was chosen to give a speech to welcome the royal couple. The student and the welcome committee waited in the rain for hours for the royal couple. The king and queen stayed dry in their coach throughout the welcome ceremony at the university. Years later, that student would be one of the most vocal leaders of the French Revolution. That student was Maximilien Robespierre. Ah, the little ironies of history.

One peeve the redcoat British soldiers had during the American war of independence was the propensity the outnumbered and outarmed colonists had for sniping at British officers, often with deadly accuracy.


	50. Wildflowers of Paris

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

50 chapters and still running. This is officially epic now.

**Chapter 50 – Wildflowers of Paris **

"Long live the King, who is in God's grace!" The welcome was muted by the rain. It was a wet summer. Milien stood stoically in the suit Robespierre had hastily acquired for him to replace his sodden clothes, not that it made any difference since he had been standing in the rain for hours waiting the arrival of the royal couple. Robespierre had not been pleased about his sudden disappearance from the Duke's and his late appearance at the university hall. The king was much later.

The rain was starting to thin now, but the royal couple still declined to emerge from the warmth of their coach. The citizens of Paris thronged the streets, eager for a glimpse of their monarch. From an upstairs window, Robespierre watched the ceremony with odd detachment. As a page boy, he had attended a good many ceremonies in his youth. He recognized Etienne at the back of the coach. The youthful captain was trying hard to control his skittish horse. He was no horseman, compared to D'Eon. _Heaven forbid that he starts a stampede losing control of his steed._

"Any sign of Jean Paul?" he asked Cagliostro and Lorenza. Both shook their heads. Jean Paul would not pass up such an opportunity for trouble. Rumours had it Madame Roland had tossed him into the sewer after an argument the night before. Robespierre hoped that the poet had been washed out to sea, if it were so. Madame Roland had gone back to her lodgings to nurse her husband, who had taken ill from the bad air of the city.

* * *

"Marie, I do believe Captain Rochefort is having some difficulties with his horse," Auguste observed. "But he is such a nice addition to the guard of honour today," his queen twittered and fanned herself. "Could we leave for Versailles soon?" she waved to the crowd. "My brother would be waiting for luncheon…"

Auguste winced at the mention of the archduke. He was well-aware of the rumours floating about the Austrian court about his and his wife's inability to produce a single child. The last time he met the archduke, he was regaled with a lecture by letter from his mother-in-law about the business of properly going about that matter, not that he needed one. He supposed his wife had also been subject to a lecture about wifely duties. She always had the glazed, half-asleep look whenever her brother started conveying her mother's words to her, even though she professed to be close to her brother. But you could not turn down the next ruler of Austria. Empress Maria Teresa had already named her son as her successor.

It was not long before Milien realised that his welcome speech was falling on deaf ears, much to his disgust. If only he could approach the coach to pass his petition to the king.

"His Majesty thanks the people of Paris for their welcome!" the page boy shouted. It was clear that the royal couple would be taking their leave. The coachman flicked his whip and the horses started their practised trot.

"Wait, Your Majesty!" Milien cried out and approached the coach with his petition in hand. He did not get far before his way was barred by the guards. "Milien!" Etienne saw his friend's distress and spun his steed around. The horse stepped into a pothole and stumbled, throwing its rider. There was a restless murmur running through the crowd. The mood of the crowd, which had been placid till then, suddenly turned ugly. Some of the crowd, men, women and children who were known to be royalist supporters, were pelting the royal guards with stones and clods of earth. They had the jerky movements Robespierre had long learnt to associate with those under the spell of the poems.

"Jean Paul!" Robespierre hissed and sprinted downstairs. A riot was in full swing by the time they reached the street. "Fire!" the guards raised their muskets. "Stop them!" Robespierre commanded. Lorenza whispered a hasty poem and the guards dropped their firearms. Milien was sprawled in the mud, and taking the full brunt of a beating from the guards. Without thinking, Robespierre ran to his aid, punching one of the guards in the gut and head-butting another.

"Take him away, hurry!" he recognised a dishevelled Cagliostro and thrust the semi-conscious Milien to him. The lad felt unnaturally warm to the touch. The soaking in the rain might have brought on a fever. "Go!" Robespierre shouted before a guard smashed the butt end of a musket onto his skull and he blacked out.

* * *

Sir William's attention was drawn by the commotion as he left the inn via an alleyway. He paused and gazed upon the riot before him. Finally, with a shrug, he fished out a scrap of paper and his quill. He knew enough to recognize that the crowd was under the control of poems. He prepared to bite his lip to draw out the blood he would use as ink. He could not stand by and watch innocents be killed through no fault of theirs.

"Will, would this be of assistance?" Franklin's voice cut in. The leader of the colonists held out an inkpot to the Englishman. "Merci, Ben…" the English knight forced the words out through gritted teeth. It rankled that he had to accept aid from a rebel to the English crown. _"Turn their swords to ploughshares, Lord…"_ Franklin quietly lent his voice to the English knight's poem as Sir William scrawled on his piece of paper.

The spell on the crowd broke as they came to their senses but the damage had been done. Guards started herding their prisoners, many injured, to the nearest prison. Among them was Maximilien Robespierre.

"You could have just walked away, Will…" Franklin chided softly. "I hate needless bloodshed, Ben," William replied. Franklin shrugged. "Same here. Though I regret that things between England and the colonies have passed beyond the point for negotiations now. There will be blood spilled in the colonies… perhaps it has already been spilled in my absence…"

"You took a risk coming out here alone, Ben."

"I trust your honour as a gentleman, Will. And a friend. Farewell, then…" Franklin tipped his hat and walked away without a backwards glance.

* * *

"This is monstrous! A riot in Paris on His Majesty's visit! An affront to the king!" Natalia shivered as she heard a noble rant. _Whatever had happened?_ She dropped the roses she has been picking, gathered up her skirts and ran towards Petit Trianon. She found the person she was looking for at the gate, nursing a sprained ankle. "Etienne! What happened? Is the king injured?"

The captain looked up from his ankle. "No, Nat. His Majesty left before the riot broke out. But it was insane. One moment they were cheering 'Long live the king', despite the rain and all, then… It's like they were possessed or something. It all started when Milien tried to pass a petition to the king and the guards tried to stop him…" Etienne swallowed. "There were clods of earth and stones flying at us and I fell…"

"How's he?" Natalia's heart sank to her soft suede slippers. "How's Milien?"

"I don't know. Lost sight of him in the ruckus. Many others were arrested, I will drop by the prisons later to see if- Wait!" Etienne called out. Natalia had spotted the king and the queen passing by on a stroll. She hurried towards them, pushing past the redhead. "Why was Nat so worried about Mil?" Etienne wondered out loud. It was not as though they were friends.

"Preposterous! My poor sister must have been so alarmed! I trust you will deal with these riff-raff suitably. Perhaps a hanging or exile at least…" the archduke of Austria drawled. Nearby, the queen of France was preoccupied with a new bracelet of diamonds her brother has given her as a gift. There were more jewels he would present later, a not-so-subtle hint that France was not catering to the expensive tastes of his younger sister.

"Yes, I agree with you…" Auguste frowned. "You can't go easy on them. A bit of hard labour… do you happen to have any mines or plantations in your colonies?" the archduke asked.

"Auguste! I mean, your Majesty…" Natalia hastily dropped a curtsy. "I heard what happened in the city. There must be some misunderstanding… The citizens of Paris waited for hours in the rain for you…"

"Ah, this must be the Barone de Beaumont who has caught your fancy. A bit skinny and much too young, I would say. Almost like a peasant," the archduke stared at Natalia. "I do believe I have seen before in Vienna… ah, yes, that little violinist. Natalia is a Russian name, isn't it? I suppose they are barbarians over there…" The group of courtiers around the royal couple broke out into chuckles. Natalia flushed red, then white with fury.

"Auguste, please! You're making a huge mistake if you punish them without…" Natalia shouted. Her outburst was interrupted by Sir Rochefort.

"Etienne! Have you been giving Lady Natalia brandy-wine so early in the day! She's blind drunk for crying out loud! We humbly beg your pardon, your Majesties…" the elderly knight hurried over as fast as his old knees would allow him. He took Natalia by the elbow. He dropped his voice to a whisper so that only she could hear his words. "Natalia, school your emotions. Come away, now." She looked awfully like her mother.

The Lia de Beaumont he recalled would never have made such a faux pas, well, discounting that one time Lia de Beaumont challenged a count to a duel after he said her precious little brother was too effeminate to be admitted to Versailles as a knight. But Natalia was not Lia and she was so much younger than her mother was when she first ventured into the maze of protocol and titles of Versailles. Natalia reluctantly allowed herself to be ushered away from the laughing courtiers and to a quiet corner of the rose garden.

Etienne and the Duke of Orleans joined them. "Rest assured, my lady, we will try our utmost to aid those arrested this morning," the duke whispered. "His Grace brought news, Nat. Milien is injured, but someone brought him to the duke's, where he is recovering," Etienne added.

"My legal advisor has most unfortunately been clapped into prison after that riot," the duke bemoaned. Sir Rochefort could not resist a chuckle at that. "I would humbly suggest you let him stew a bit. Robespierre is, unfortunately, a bit too outspoken against the monarchy," the knight said.

"Why, that was exactly what Madame Roland suggested to my lady when she visited. She did ask us to write a piece for Camile's paper though. Dr Roland gave my lady a clean bill of health… Lord, we can't believe we're going to be parents in a few more months…" the duke's thoughts returned to the more mundane matters of his household.

"Nat, what's up between you and Milien? Do you love him?" Etienne asked. Natalia smiled wryly but did not reply. Of course she did. Max was her twin, her beloved brother.

* * *

"Lorenza… where's Master Robespierre?" Milien blinked and let loose a moan. He was running a fever. His bruises ached and his arm was in a sling. "In prison," Lorenza replied matter-of-factly.

"We have to get him out…" Milien struggled to his feet and almost fell. Lorenza did not bother to help him up. "The duke is letting him stew in there for a bit for his part in the riot," Cagliostro said.

"Master Robespierre did not have anything to do with it," Milien groaned. "It was Jean Paul or one of his cronies. Even Madame Roland would not instigate a riot like this. We need to get him out."

"His reputation in the coffeehouses precedes him. They are holding him for his past speeches against the monarchy and clergy," Cagliostro replied. "You know he is not really prudent about speaking in those places." The Italian shuddered. Prisons were brutal places to be. He hated to admit it but he would not wish it even on that redhead he had maintained an uneasy partnership with over the years. Yet, his duty and Lorenza's now was to keep Milien and the Psalms he held out of harm's way.

"Let me up," Milien struggled to rise. "No. You need to get well first," Lorenza said. Milien waited until the pair left the room hours later. He glanced over to Robespierre's empty bed. He was worried. Robespierre's papers were scattered over his table. Milien walked over to the table and saw the silver watch and pistol lying among the papers. His master had forgotten to take them along this time. Milien picked up the watch with his good arm. NQM. He traced the letters craved on it. He hastily dressed himself, throwing on his coat.

Tucking pistol into his belt and the watch into his coat pocket, he left his room. The duke and the household had retired to their beds. He crept through the house on tiptoe. It was a moonlit night, which was a blessing. Jean Paul would probably at his press behind the Defarges' tavern, gloating over Robespierre's arrest. He would put a bullet through his black heart. The thought made him light-headed. _Or was it the fever? _

"Milien, where do you think you are going?" Madame Roland's voice stopped him short when he stepped out into the streets. Hooded, she stood in the street before the Duke's house beside a coach. "I need to save Master Robespierre," he replied. Madame Roland grasped his good arm. Milien pulled away. With a clatter, the watch fell out of his coat pocket. The woman was on it in a flash.

"Give it back!" Milien cried out. He knew how important that battered old watch was to Robespierre. "NQM… do you know what it means?" she asked as she handed it back. She continued without waiting for his reply. "Naqam, it means to restore the balance. Go back to bed, Mil. And put back that pistol. Your master has overstepped himself and must pay for it. It will do him some good to be kept in check for a bit…"

"What about Jean Paul? He's the one who caused the riot!" The rage still rankled within him.

"He will be dealt with in good time, Mil. You have a rare gift. You are an exceptional poet, but you must not confront Jean Paul just yet."

"He is that strong a poet then?" Madame Roland only nodded in reply. Milien then noticed that she was not alone. Someone disembarked from the coach. It was Charlotte, his one-time lover and constant admirer. "Charlotte, Milien needs your care… see that he stays in his bed. Charlotte has been given a post in the Duke's household." The dark-haired girl nodded and took Milien's good elbow in her hand and firmly steered him back indoors.

**Author's Notes: **

Robin's in prison now. Near miss for Milien and a faux pas by Natalia.

This is probably the last appearance by Ben Franklin. He's going home to the colonies to get involved in the War of Independence with his fellow colonists, backed up by French military aid.


	51. Roses of Versailles

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 51 –Roses of Versailles**

"You're resigning?" Cagliostro exclaimed as Milien piled his meagre belongings and Robespierre's into a chest. The young man nodded. He had recovered under Charlotte's tender loving care. Now, he was aching for action. First, he had to slip out from Madame Roland's surveillance. Charlotte had reluctantly gone out with Lorenza to purchase some linen-cloths. A letter had been sent to the duke and instructions left with the housekeeper to maintain the residence in their absence.

"It will not be good if the duke's clerk gets arrested while making speeches at a coffeehouse," he said. The duke and duchess had gone out into the countryside down south to get away from the polluted air of the city, on Dr Roland's recommendations. Milien suspected Madame Roland had a hand in that too. It was clear the duke had little intention of concerning himself with Master Robespierre, not when he was flush with the joy of impending parenthood.

Camile had offered him and his cronies lodging at his printing press. But Camile was a blabbermouth. He would be telling Charlotte about Milien's new residence in no time. He would have to make arrangements with Francois and his somewhat ghoulish wife. The idea of living under the same roof as human bones and other pickled body parts did not appeal to Lorenza or Cagliostro one bit. The last time he visited, Francois' wife was busy curing a human hand in brine to create an imitation 'Hand of Glory'.

"Maximilien Robespierre will be making a rousing speech at Café Chevalier d'Pointe this evening," Milien mused.

"But he's in prison!" Cagliostro exclaimed as he packed another bottle of the duke's finest red into his case. "No, he can't be in prison if he is still out railing against the king, right?" Milien chuckled.

* * *

A few weeks later in the Rochefort residence, a sorry quartet of men huddled over their drinks in the parlour.

"Sir Rochefort, I really do not know what I should do…" D'Eon groaned. "Natalia is too young and naïve to deal with Versailles… she's only sixteen!" he poured out another glass of claret. The elderly knight smiled. "Anna was fifteen when she became a lady-in-waiting."

"Natalia is not a lady-in-waiting. His Majesty is enamoured of her…" D'Eon continued. "And likewise she of him," Sir Rochefort added. "Natalia lacks the sophistication to hide her passions. Even Anna knew better than to toss her favours so freely, even to her own fiancé." In fact, had his daughter been as direct as Natalia, poor teenaged D'Eon would have fled for the nearest monastery.

"If His Majesty had tried to force his attentions on her, which I doubt is in his nature, we would be dealing with a very different problem," D'Eon admitted wryly. Natalia had shoved Robbie away whenever he got too familiar with her, and was not above kicking him off a barn roof.

"She wields much influence over him. His Majesty always consults her before passing a law or making any decision of state. The people's court idea the Duke of Orleans had been espousing, she finally got the king to agree to give the people of Paris that power. Some nobles are still rankling over having additional taxes levied on their estate for the war in the Americas and they can't tax their peasants beyond a fixed percentage of the harvest. And she had the prices of wheat and flour fixed…" Sir Rochefort related the latest news from Versailles. D'Eon had opted to shy away from the court in light of his niece's open relationship with the king. Even if Lia had influenced Empress Elizaveta and to some extent Queen Mary of England, she was careful to let her involvement be known only to select few.

"They call her the Grande Mademoiselle in Paris. Some say she should be queen in light of Queen Marie Antoinette's failure to produce a child. Even the nobles are talking of this," Etienne frowned. "Her Majesty is greatly distressed by such talk. She isn't particularly intelligent but she is starting to feel His Majesty's coldness towards her more keenly."

"And she has not asked you to warm her lonesome bed?" Robbie laughed dryly and kicked off his shoes. An uneasy truce had sprung up between the English servant and Etienne. "Naturally, it would be awkward if the next royal baby has a head of red hair. Sir D'Eon, Etienne, Captain Coon told me of a bird in Africa called an ostrich - a huge bird with the loveliest plumes. The problem with it is that it is said to tuck its head into sand at the slightest hint of danger. Methinks Their Majesties are both shirking their royal duties like ostriches and perhaps a good many nobles as well. They hide in Versailles away from the people. Her Majesty even has a private court of her own in Petit Trianon. The ostriches do not know when a lion is pouncing on them because their heads are buried in sand."

"Well said, Robbie," Sir Rochefort applauded the Englishman's insight. "They do not hear the inflammatory speeches Robespierre has been tossing about. Those who hear, choose to ignore. Would you believe that that man is free? He's been giving a discussion at Café Pointers every Wednesday night."

D'Eon breathed a sigh of relief at this revelation. News of Robin's arrest brought mixed feelings for him. On one hand, he was relieved that such a dangerous revolutionary had been removed from the streets of Paris. On the other, he felt concern for his former comrade. Robin's crimes could easily have him hung, beheaded or burnt as a traitor, provided he did not succumb to prison fever first before being brought to trial.

Their little gathering was interrupted by a knock on the door. With a hasty apology, Sir Rochefort excused himself and left with his valet.

The newcomer was waiting in the drawing room. Count de Mercy was young for his post but experienced enough as Austria's ambassador to France. His proposal was delivered coolly. "France and Austria cannot afford another war, which will destroy us both. My master, the Archduke, has given me orders to ensure that the union between our countries stand. Her Majesty, his sister must produce an heir to cement our alliance."

"I agree," Sir Rochefort added. "What do you propose?" It was common knowledge that King Louis XVI felt little affection for his queen and hardly shared his bed with her. They were two very different people whose only commonality was their woeful inadequacy to rule their kingdom.

"There are several options open to us. We propose to remove the current Royal Mistress. If she were to be married or to take holy vows…"

"It will be a loss to France if she decides to shut herself in a cloister," Sir Rochefort cried out. "As for marriage, she has broken off her betrothal with my son…"

"Then I fear that I must throw in my lot with the other nobles. Sir Rochefort, you are no stranger to court intrigues of the highest level…"

"Whatever you have planned, please remember that she is a loyal Frenchwoman and an innocent at that," Sir Rochefort added. "La Baronne Natalia would never allow France to go to war with Austria. Such a war will ruin France. Her only sin is that she is the woman loved by His Majesty."

"Or I could propose a little something in Their Majesties wine and a night in each other's company?" Robbie's voice chipped in. Unknown to the ambassador and the knight he had been eavesdropping on their conversation outside the door. "His Majesty is a man with a man's healthy appetites. His wife is the most beautiful if not the brightest of all the daughters of the Empress, no? Assuming their equipment is working, a stallion will definitely mount a mare…" Robbie added cheekily. Both ambassador and knight blushed crimson.

"Robbie!" Sir D'Eon exclaimed in horror at his servant's crude remarks in such esteemed personage as the ambassador. He was wondering why Robbie was taking so long to get another bottle. "Forgive me, sirs. I speak as a son of a horse trader," Robbie offered his apologies as his master steered him away.

* * *

In Versailles, Natalia de Beaumont studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. The mirror itself was framed in gold gilt, cherubs, lilies and vines curled around her image, topped by the royal crest. It was a gift from Auguste. Natalia never really thought of herself as being a beauty. However, with artists and sculptors clamouring to immortalise her in oils or marble, she was forced to reconsider. She was blessed with a complexion that was that of ivory or pearl. Her hair was a pale gold, the kind currently much in fashion. Her eyes were a piquant shade of blue-green which made her eyes so much larger in her face than they were.

With a tired sigh she loosened her corset. Court fashion demanded the tiniest of waists. Even though she was slender, she had to tighten her corset to a point where she almost felt faint. She was feeling a bit indisposed, so she told Auguste. Reluctantly, the king had taken her suggestion to spend the night with his wife. Her real reasons were more pressing. That morning she had seen the ghostly message from Max appear on her mirror.

"Lia?" she heard the hoarse whisper before Max emerged from his secret passageway. Her twin looked haggard. His hair was tied back with a scrap of ribbon. His blue frock coat was like a beggar's garb amidst the sheer opulence of her chambers. As always he had the Psalms held to his breast.

Wordlessly, she offered him an apple from her fruit basket and a platter of cheese and bread, which he devoured hungrily. Francois and Annamarie were terrible cooks and the coffeehouses and taverns had little dinner to offer a revolutionary constantly on the move. Finally, she poured them cups of tea brewed Russian-style in a samovar Auguste had ordered specially for her. Natalia always preferred her tea strong when the nights turned cold. In the day, she liked her tea with a dash of milk, English-style. Max liked coffee, strongly-brewed but she was unable to offer him any. The smell of burnt beans would cling to her chamber for days.

"Max, you have to stop," she finally spoke. The fire in the fireplace crackled and leapt.

"Why? If the king and nobles will not listen, I have to continue speaking for the people as Master Robespierre would have done."

"Max, why did you leave the Duke of Orleans? Through him you could influence the court…"

"The king does not listen to the Duke, Rochefort or any of those who really want the best for France. You only have his ear because you share his pillow most nights…"

"Max!" Natalia flushed crimson. She caught herself before she could strike him. Max was telling the truth. Poor Auguste was so stifled by the court that the only time he had to think for himself was either in his workshop or when they were in bed. No courtier would dare interrupt them when they were in bed. She took a sip of the brewed tea to calm her nerves.

"How is uncle?" Milien asked.

"I think he is embarrassed by me being royal mistress. He hardly shows up in Versailles, even when he does, he spends his time with Robbie in the stables."

"Ah, I was wondering where those rumours about Uncle, a page boy and a horse started. I would watch Robbie carefully. I believe he is an English spy."

"Robbie is not…" Natalia froze in mid-sentence. Someone was rapping on her door.

"Goodnight, Lia. Thanks for the cake and tea…" Milien kissed her on the cheek before grabbing his coat and book. He slid back into the secret passage. Natalia hurried over to the door. It was a young maidservant.

"Madame La B-baronne…" the girl stuttered. "H-her Majesty wishes your presence…" The girl's eyes darted about like a rat's in the dark, peering into the room behind the royal mistress. The fact that there were two teacups on the table did not escape her notice.

* * *

"Your Majesty…" Natalia curtsied before the queen. It was late. The walk from her rooms in the main palace to Petit Trianon was slow and torturous given the darkness of the gardens. There was no ball on tonight and thus no lamps were lit. The maid had a page boy to light their way with a lantern. Natalia was painfully aware of what a sight she must look with a shawl thrown over her dress. Her dress was a simple, almost rustic-looking one, without any jewels to decorate it.

Queen Marie Antoinette was dressed in a gown studded with seed-pearls. The skirt was a good deal smaller than her formal court gown. Still, it was extravagant enough so that the queen, a small dainty-built woman, was all but overwhelmed by the lustrous silks and rich velvets. The maids hung about her like moths around a flame, as if they could bask in her radiance. "I wish to speak to La Baronne de Beaumont alone," her voice was melodic. French was not her first language and she spoke it haltingly.

When the last of the maids and pages had left the parlour, only did the queen allow herself to slump onto a chaise lounge. "His Majesty has visited us earlier. However, we are indisposed and he has gone to his workshop," she added. "You, de Beaumont, have been affianced to Etienne, but His Majesty has chosen to bestow his favour on you. Have you broken of your engagement because of this? We hear from my ladies that the citizens of Paris adore you… Yet we cannot see why. When we first came as his bride, we knew everyone considered me an outsider. Why is it that you are liked while we are not?"

Natalia stood still without flinching as a feathered cushion hit her full in the face, scattering feathers everyone. The queen was throwing a royal tantrum. "You are nothing! Some half-bred bastard from goodness knows where! Tell me, is that chevalier you call uncle, your father or your lover?" It took all of Natalia's self-control not to speak back. Sir Rochefort and her uncle had warned her about that after her outburst before the archduke. Royalty is sainted and in God's grace. You simply did not harm or even speak back to them. Instead, she waited until the queen and exhausted herself into a fit of tears.

"It must be difficult being queen, or king. There is no room for 'I' in 'we'," Natalia said softly in German, choosing to use the queen's native tongue. "I did not choose to be born a princess…" Marie Antoinette ripped a silken shawl into two. "Mother was always disappointed with me. I am not as bright as my sisters or brothers. My brother said the only thing I am good for is to marry a fellow royal, birth princes and seal the alliance between Austria and France. All my sisters married princes, dukes and counts. I married a sovereign king, yet I feel I got the worst deal."

"No. You did not choose to be born a princess. Neither did Auguste choose to be king. He had to ascend the throne when Louis XV died and maybe he is still trying to figure out how running a country works. Being king is more than just balls and parties. He's got to make some difficult decisions. He needs someone to support him," Natalia added. "Under that crown, he is still a man. Perhaps some part of him is still the bewildered young prince who was crowned king at age six."

"You sound a bit like my mother, but not as imperious as her…" the queen dabbed at her eyes with a lacy hanky. "I am not a royal, just a poor lowly noble," Natalia curtsied. "Would Her Majesty like to drop in on His Majesty in his workshop? He was working on a toy carousel. Perhaps it is finished now…" Natalia suggested. "But first, we must have this mess cleaned up and have you dressed up properly. Autumn is nearing and it is getting cold…" Both king and queen had to be coaxed out of their shells. For starters, they needed to learn to trust each other.

**Author's Notes: **

Maixmilien Robespierre (Robin) is probably still in prison for rioting. D'Eon has no idea of that because Maximilien Robespierre Jr. (Milien) is going about giving speeches as Robin. Natalia's influence in court is growing and she seems to have won Her Majesty over for now.

Historical fact. Marie Antoinette hated attending the court in Versailles and chose to spend most of her time in Petit Trianon with a circle of her trusted friends, effectively forming an inner circle and separate court from the France court. The Petit Trianon was off-limits to all unless she granted permission. Other nobles hated that and thought of her as being overly arrogant. One nickname was the Austrian Ostrich for her habit hiding from her royal duties. Louis XVI was prone to fits of depression which greatly affected his ability to make court decisions.

Clarification – despite popular lore, Ostriches do not hide their heads in sand to escape danger. They would all have gone extinct long ago if they did. The large birds prefer running from (flight) or if need be kicking would-be predators (fight).


	52. Three's a Crowd

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 52 – Three's a Crowd**

"Why did Natalia want three horses?" D'Eon asked. "She wants to go riding with their majesties…" Robbie replied as he saddled a roan gelding.

"Her Majesty too?" D'Eon restrained an overly-active stallion.

"Yes, they get along like a house afire. The queen calls Natalia her dear little sister now. They'd be breakfasting with His Majesty after the morning prayers in the chapel," Robbie replied.

"How did you get hold of this information, not from Her Majesty's ladies I hope?" D'Eon asked. "Sir Willie told me," Robbie blurted out. "Willie? Is Sir William here?" D'Eon glanced about in alarm. The last thing they needed was for the English knight to be caught spying about France. Technically, France and England were now at war.

"Nice horses, I assume they are for their majesties?" William's voice boomed out as if on cue. The Englishman loped out from behind an oak tree. There was no telling how long he had been there. He paused to stroke the nose of one of the horses.

"What are you doing here?" D'Eon hissed. "I'm a guest, advisor to the people's court. The English did have far more experience with a jury system than you Frenchmen. As for exposing me as a spy, I would like to remind you that Robbie Englishman here will probably suffer as much as I will," William tipped his hat slightly with his cane. "I do not hold with King George's policies in the colonies and I regret that as a loyal subject I have failed to convince him to reconsider them… thus I have chosen voluntary exile." He patted Robbie firmly on the shoulder in a show of paternal affection.

"You are lodge-master of a lodge of English poets…" D'Eon started. He did not believe Sir William's presence in Versailles was coincidental. "Ah. I have been engaged by Her Majesty to translate the Bard of Avon's plays to French. Here comes the most royal lady…" William made an extravagant bow worthy of an Elizabethan courtier.

"Uncle, what lovely horses you have chosen," Natalia greeted D'Eon warmly with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She stared at Sir William with a mixture of trepidation and bemusement. She did not choose to display any familiarity towards the man. The royal couple were closing in on the paddock with their attendants in tow.

The king was slightly out of breath. Indeed, it would be good if the king could lose weight and get more exercise. The queen fanned herself uncertainly as she gazed on the horses. "Perhaps we would need more steeds for our attendants…" she announced mildly. There was a nervous twitter of uncertainty among the attendants. A good many of them were not horsemen or women.

"Well, I suppose we could ask for a small contingent of mounted guards. It would be a pity of we scare the birds off… Captain Etienne? Could you get a few of your men?" Natalia smiled sweetly. "Would it be alright if Uncle D'Eon joins us as well?"

* * *

An hour later, they were plodding along at a steady pace through the royal park. "Look, a deer…" Auguste smiled and pointed out the doe to his queen. Natalia had fallen back a little to ride beside her uncle. A knot of three mounted guardsmen followed them for a while, but were swiftly forced to turn back due to a broken saddle-girth, a lame horse and a lost horseshoe. Only Etienne and D'Eon now provided the minimal security. D'Eon prayed that there were no boars or wolves in the vicinity.

Robbie had trotted ahead to clear the way of any danger, so the lad claimed. Looking at the royal couple before them, D'Eon was reminded of the time he and Anna had gone riding. It was an excursion put forward by his sister. Inexplicably, Anna's steed had disappeared shortly after they stopped for the picnic luncheon and he had been forced to ride back with her perched behind him with her arms round his waist. Lia had been most amused by his predicament when they failed to find Anna's horse. One simply could not allow a girl to ride with one like that, even if they were betrothed.

"_Surely you can't expect her to walk back, and she can't ride with me because my horse is starting to go lame…"_ Lia had said. Anna's horse had turned up riderless at the Rocheforts' an hour earlier, sending poor Sir Rochefort into a frenzy of worry. Now he wondered if Natalia was following in her mother's footsteps and getting their majesties to become closer. Etienne hovered nearby. His horse was a tame but elderly nag and the strain of the ride was starting to show. Soon he would fall behind, unable to keep up… D'Eon readied to spur on his horse.

"No, let them be," Natalia shook her head and touched his elbow.

"You're setting them up…" D'Eon said. Natalia shrugged. "France needs a Dauphin. And the king and queen must not separate…"

"You love His Majesty…"

"Yes, but Auguste is still king of France in God's grace, for better or worse. And his queen is Marie," Natalia blinked as the queen seemed to teeter in her saddle, only for her husband to reach over to steady her. _Why had the tears come? _"Natalia?" D'Eon asked. "Just a touch of sun, uncle…" Natalia murmured absently before trotting over to join Etienne.

* * *

"Sir William," a voice called out from behind him as the Englishman toiled over Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_. The knight did not even bother looking up from his manuscript. "de Mercy, what could I do for you or your masters?"

The Austrian ambassador stepped out from the shadows of the cavernous library. "It is about Natalia de Beaumont."

"The young lady who has both the king and queen of France round her little finger? Do not fret. She knows her place. Marie Antoinette will remain queen of France," William yawned and stretched his cramped limbs, spilling ink across the paper in the process.

"My master is fearful. They dine together, attend Mass together, ride together and some suggest they even share the same bed," de Mercy furtively glanced about before perching on a clerk's stool beside the Englishman.

"My advice to you and your masters will be the same as before, Leave them be. I am not inclined to use my powers as a poet to meddle in this matter. Do not force me to use them against you," Sir William warned. De Mercy bowed and took his leave. There was more than one way to deal with the problem. There was gossip his paid spy in Versailles had picked up about a mysterious visitor who was not seen but who was entertained on occasion by the Grande Mademoiselle in her chamber at night.

Once his visitor had gone, William rolled up his parchment. D'Eon's nephew was due to give a discussion on the rights of the citizens under the name Maximilien Robespierre and he was not going to miss that for anything. He wondered if D'Eon would accept the invitation he had extended to him.

* * *

"The king, queen and baroness are a threesome…" Camile jibed. "I suppose you've already heard that from Francois… Hey!" Milien lobbed his bread knife at the brunette, who deftly caught it between his finger and thumb. "I mean no disrespect to the Grande Mademoiselle of course, but even my liberal tastes find that a bit hard to swallow… She's just sixteen, isn't she? But she has charms enough to beat any trained courtesan… even the queen is charmed by her. Makes one wonder whether she grew up in a bordello. Mil, if you throw another knife or mug at me, I will be much obliged to challenge you to a duel."

"Camile, just drop it and pass me the list of jurors for Master Robespierre's _leste majeste_ trial," Milien put down his tankard which he was about to toss at his drinking companion. It was likely that his master would have been released, if he had not inexplicably snapped when rumours came to his ears about the church wanting to beatify the late king, Louis XV. Screaming that the departed king was a murderer and a cuckoo's egg was not going to go down well. He had been beaten up by his fellow prisoners for his unseemly outburst and the warden had been obliged to hold him on charges of _leste majeste_.

"Will you be giving a discussion tonight, Mil?" the young assistant editor asked. "I have reserved a column in my paper for you. _Voice of the Citizen,_ I'll call it…"

"Yes," Milien said. Francois was full of the gossip of the court, gleaned from his medical colleagues at the university or his wife. Of course, Annamarie was careful not to be too voluble, lest she lost her appointment at the imperial court. His sister's affair was getting worrisome. He glanced through the list and laughed. "Dr Roland? The man's a sheep." He frowned on closer inspection of the other names. The majority were Jean Paul's cronies and not inclined to be lenient on Master Robespierre. "Sir Rochefort and Sir de Beaumont… since when did they allow nobles on the jury?"

"Since the duke of Orleans made a special request to include the nobility in the people's court as well… but those two knights are nigh toothless as well. Rochefort's so ancient, it would be a miracle if he does not die during the course of the trial and de Beaumont's a milksop, worse than Dr Roland," Camile observed. "Madame Roland has her husband at her beck and call but de Beaumont, well, his niece or daughter has the final say in their household."

"Camile, will it be possible for me to get a seat in the jury?"

"What? But it wouldn't be unprejudiced, will it?" Camile looked up in alarm. "Does a list like this speak unprejudiced?" Milien asked acidly. "I suppose I could, for old time's sake, challenge Grenouille to a duel and shoot him in the leg or something… that should even up the odds a little," Camile shrugged. "I cannot guarantee that you will be nominated onto the list though."

"Shoot him in the nuts and half the girls in Paris will hold you dear to their hearts," Milien suggested. He better stop drinking. It would never do for him to show up drunk at the coffeehouse.

* * *

"Good of you to show up," Sir William shook Sir D'Eon's hand warmly when they entered the coffeehouse. Sir Rochefort greeted Sir William coolly. He never liked the English knight. Robbie was grinning with impish mischief, and that was before he had taken any coffee. D'Eon wondered if the boy had visited such establishments before while under William's tutelage back in London, or whether he had frequented such places in Paris. His doubts were laid to rest when Robbie accosted a serving girl and placed an arm around her waist. The pair slid over to a dim corner of the building.

"Leave him be," Sir Rochefort shrugged. "Our purpose is to find out who this Maximilien Robespierre is. Ah! There're Annamarie Tussad and her husband," Rochefort plucked at D'Eon's sleeve and pointed out the pair huddled in a corner between a fishwife and a carpenter. Francois was belligerently poking at a stale-looking cake while his wife was tucking a dead rat back into her powdered wig with a bone. D'Eon winced. Annamarie's odd tastes had not changed with age. He still remembered her poking at a skull in lye as a little girl.

"Normally, they would be in the company of the Duke of Orleans but he is away," Sir William said. "I didn't know you were acquainted with His Excellency," Sir Rochefort snorted.

"I happen to be acquainted with his physician. Ah, there's the sweet lady," William waved at Madame Roland as she walked into the salon with her little shadow, Charlotte. She bestowed an icy glare at the knights before joining the Tussads. They did not have long to wait before Camile Desmoulins ambled lazily to a sturdy round table which had been placed in the centre of the room. He placed a stack of his papers on the table top and started distributing it to his paying customers.

William bought a copy and passed it to D'Eon. "_Voice of the Citizen…_ well, well… There are a few lines on the riot the other day and the detention of those some persons who had been arrested, and a length on the increase in taxes on top of a failed wheat harvest," the Englishman laughed. "Here comes our Maximilien Robespierre…"

Milien walked up to the table and clambered onto it to use as a platform to address his audience from. The pair of Cagliostro and Lorenza hovered behind him. He was dressed simply as a clerk would and wore his hair without a wig. He looked awfully like his sister.

"Natalia?" the French knight almost leapt to his feet but Sir William restrained him. "Is this young man the twin of our little Natalia? The likeness is amazing. He has as much fire in him as his sister," the Englishman remarked and stroked the sparse moustache a few days' lack of shaving had given him. Milien paid little heed to the noblemen in the corner. Most of the noble patrons had taken care to absent themselves from the coffeehouse tonight. It was the commoners who formed the bulk of his audience.

Milien had taken hold of his audience now. He was not inferior to his master. What he lacked for in his skill, he more than compensated for his passion. "The great lords of the land tax us heavily. Yet our fields are bare. They cared not that our pots are empty and our children unfed. What does the king say to this? What does the Church say? They care not for the common man!"

"Even if they did, it is only for the sake of our pretty daughters and sisters. Wouldn't you say so, Sir D'Eon?" Camile's eyes had caught sight of the blond knight and his companion. Milien spun around at his friend's outburst. The crowd had already been worked into a frenzy.

"D'Eon de Beaumont?" Milien blinked. He shoved Camile hard enough, apparently by accident, to knock him off his chair as he launched into a vehement tirade against the nobility. "Will we stand for this? Are we such sheep to be led to the slaughter while our fields are ravaged by those with no hearts?" Milien extorted. Camile was staggering to his feet and approaching the knights. Given the mood in the house, Sir Rochefort and D'Eon would easily be set upon. Robbie was disentangling himself from the wench he had sought out earlier. There was a glint of steel in his hand.

**Author's Note:**

Natalia, their Majesties are getting along famously and Sir William is back to meddle in the matters of D'Eon and his fellow Frenchmen. A jury of his peers will be judging poor Robin.

Possible brawl in the house?


	53. A Court of Law

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Robin's going on trial soon...

**Chapter 53 – A Court of Law**

Camile opened his mouth to alert his fellow revolutionaries to the presence of a pair of nobles in their midst. Sir William leaned forward and dealt Camile a rap on the skull with the knob of his cane which stunned him.

"Hear, hear!" the Englishman clapped his hands, eliciting a raucous applause from the floor. Panting heavily from his passionate speech, Milien managed a bow before the coffeehouse owner shouted a warning. The secret police were closing in. Immediately, members of the audience made their discreet exits. Madame Roland and her maidservant darted out through the kitchens. Milien seized Camile and manhandled him out through a side exit with his two cronies in tow. Lorenza muttered a poem to buy them more time to escape. In the alley outside, a pack of poem-possessed dogs attacked the unwitting secret policemen.

"_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust… the word of Man is nought before the Word of the Lord…"_ Sir William placed his hand onto his newspaper. As one, all the newspaper copies flared and burst into ashes, removing all evidence of the seditious tracts. The carpenter and fishwife had disappeared, but the Tussads remained at their seats nonchalantly. Sir William waved a serving woman over and ordered a tankard of ale and a mince pie. "Dinner, gentlemen?"

The coffeehouse took on an air of genteel ease as the shadier characters made their getaway through the side door. Rochefort laughed dryly and asked for wine and a meat pie. Robbie chirped in with a request for a bowl of stew and bread for himself and his master.

A knot of dishevelled policemen burst into the coffeehouse, apparently startling the patrons. The customers, mostly middle-class merchants and scholars, looked up from their interrupted meals. The sergeant bustled. It appeared to have been nothing but a wild goose chase. There was no sign of any revolutionary. The sergeant vented his venom on the hapless doorman. "Get up you cur!" He seized the poor doorman, who happened to be a cripple, by his collar. "Did any suspicious persons pass this way?"

"N-no, sir…" the poor man stammered. "Really? Are we to believe that, boys?" the sergeant hit the man in the face then drew his sword.

D'Eon had quite enough. He got to his feet. "The man speaks the truth, sergeant. There's no need for this…" Indeed, all the revolutionaries and their followers had either fled through the kitchen or side door or were still at their tables. "D'Eon…" Sir Rochefort plucked at D'Eon's sleeve but the younger man shrugged him off. Robbie swaggered over to his master's side. The doorman scurried away like a kicked dog.

"Ah, the royal stable master… one would not expect a man of your standing to be in such company," the sergeant sneered. "How does that filly of yours…" D'Eon clenched his fists and readied to throw a punch at the man's sneering face.

"What company my master chooses to keep is no business of yours," Robbie fingered the dagger in his belt.

"De Beaumont, enough. Such talk is spoiling our dinner," Rochefort called out. "Sergeant, the company here is genteel. In fact, the duke himself favours this establishment… we were about to start a discussion on the latest play at the theatre. Would you care to join us?" the old knight said absently. The sergeant grumbled under his breath and motioned for his men to leave.

"A pack of surly curs, if I do say so," Sir William smiled and said in English. "Sir D'Eon, I would like you to read through my first French draft of the Bard's play Romeo and Juliet…" he took out a stack of papers from his coat. D'Eon hesitated. It would be too easy for a poet like Sir William to slip in a poem among the papers. "Relax, _mon ami._ There is no poem inside," the Englishman placed the play on the table.

Rochefort leaned close to D'Eon as the younger man pored over the papers. "D'Eon. There's de Mercy… I don't know how long he was been here…" the white-haired knight nodded towards a sullen man. The ambassador was dressed as a nondescript clerk or valet. The man paid for his meal and strode towards the door. "Long enough to listen to our little Maximilien make his speech," William added tersely. When Robbie shot him a questioning look and fingered his dagger, William shook his head. It would not do for the Austrian ambassador to die so soon after parting ways with them.

The ambassador's departure did not go unnoticed. "Your Excellency! Do remember to pick up the medicine for your little problem," Francois called out drunkenly. "I guarantee your wife will be so much merrier if you get that problem fixed before going home to Austria." The man's innocuous remarks brought forth roars of laughter from the house.

* * *

The day of the trial was bright and sunny despite it being autumn. The courtroom was stiflingly hot. Sir Rochefort and D'Eon took their seats. _Maximilien._ D'Eon noticed his nephew taking his seat at the far end of their bench. Dr Roland was also on the jury. D'Eon wondered how he and Rochefort had agreed to sit on the bench. William had said it was a _leste majeste_ trial. _"Of course it means nothing to an Englishman like me,"_ the poet laughed.

"All rise…" the marshal called out. The judge strode in, a vulture-like man with hooded eyes and a sharp nose. The defendant was marched in between two guards.

"Robin…" D'Eon caught himself just in time. Hands manacled and sporting a black eye, the redhead shambled up to the dock.

"We could just use those poems and free him…" Cagliostro complained to Lorenza. "Hush, the boy has a point," the woman pointed out. "We can't have a disturbance in the courthouse and if we spring him out, he'd be on the run for the rest of his life…" the pair watched from the public gallery as their master's trial started. Robespierre had come a long way from the former page to a lawyer of some standing in Paris. He was not going to end up like a hunted fox. Milien had been certain on that. He wanted to have his master acquitted of all charges.

The Bastille was as tough a prison as they had in Paris and escape from there was near impossible. Robespierre had been imprisoned there after his outburst.

The trial was tedious. The defendant was both evasive and defiant when question, which did not sit well with judge or jurors. _Robin, why don't you help yourself by apologizing over calling Louis XV a murderer… _D'Eob groaned silently. _Never mind if it's true…_

"It is clear he is either a rebel or a madman to smear the name of our late king, Louis XV the Beloved…" the prosecutor said as he turned to the jury after making his final address to the court.

"I say hang him, hang him high!" a weasel-faced clerk cried out. "No, that is too harsh a punishment for a mere slip of the tongue," Dr Roland wheezed. The old man looked awfully pale. "Hanging is too easy, have him burnt alive!" another man shouted. "A burning's always good for my business… Firewood anyone?" his joke earned guffaws from his fellows.

"Gentlemen of the jury, please! We need a decision from you," the judge stressed. "A unanimous one…"

"I propose that he is a lunatic who should be locked up safely in an asylum," someone shouted. "Order! Order in court!" the marshal rapped his mace on his table. "The gentlemen of the jury will be sequestered until they reach a decision."

* * *

"Are you for freeing him?" Sir Rochefort asked. D'Eon shook his head. It was too dangerous. Maximilien and Robin were a pair of firebrands. _If Robin were safely confined in a cell, would he or Natalia be able to guide Maximilien to serve the royal court?_ "He was once a comrade of yours… Those people want him dead…" the elderly knight warned. "They will challenge any attempt to have him acquitted."

Dr Roland and Milien stood apart from the main core of jurors, just as the French knights stood apart. The remaining jurors were clearly associates and were jesting over how the mighty Master Robespierre would fare on the gallows. Some of their suggestions were enough to make him shudder.

"I bet he would pee in his pants and faint like a little girl."

"He's so skinny that we'd have to tie weights to his feet to make sure he hangs… Nay, let's just behead him…"

"Guys, I don't like the idea of sending him to the gallows for something many of us do, cursing the king and all his like… how about we send him into exile on a sugar plantation in the Indies? That should help with the labour shortage there," a tailor said.

"Surely you jest. He'll make a poor slave. He'll be dead before a week. Even the lions would turn their noses up at his scrawny carcass." Someone had sneaked in a bottle of wine and it was making the rounds.

"He was an advisor to the Duke of Orleans… do you suppose there's truth to his allegations? I mean, it was a shock back then when Good Queen Marie and her lady-in-waiting were murdered in the palace… That case remains unsolved…" an elderly law clerk said. "Perhaps our noble friends will be able to shed some light on that?" he turned to the knights. "I recall the girl's name was Rochefort… was she a relative, Sir Rochefort?"

"Monsieur Mallard, you talk too much," Milien called out. "I say we acquit the defendant of all…" he ducked as the now empty bottle arced across the room and smashed into the wall behind him." You're just saying that because you are his toy-boy!" someone shouted an off-colour insult. Enraged, Milien reached for his dagger.

"No," D'Eon was beside him in a flash. "Don't…" he grabbed the exposed blade in his hand.

"Sir D'Eon?" Milien looked uncertainly at his uncle's pleading eyes and then at the blood running down his dagger hilt from D'Eon's sliced palm. "Better let Dr Roland have a look at that…" Milien said and reluctantly surrendered his weapon to the knight.

"Gentlemen… this is most unseemly…" Dr Roland bleated in alarm. The alcohol and unseasonal heat was affecting all the jurors. Tempers were beginning to flare. The words were barely out of his mouth when he was punched in the mouth. "Stuff it, you old coot!"

D'Eon caught Dr Roland lest he fell. The man spat out blood and a tooth. Two other jurors were locked in a scuffle over some obscure quarrel. The old clerk had given up all pretence of interest and was dozing in his chair. Sir Rochefort gently prodded the clerk and received no response. The elderly knight watched the disintegrating proceedings wearily before reaching into his frock coat and pulling out a…

"Enough! All of you!" A gunshot rang out. Everyone froze. Wood chips and plaster rained down from the ceiling. "Sir Rochefort… when did you get that pistol?" D'Eon asked. He never thought Sir Rochefort would bring a firearm into the courthouse. "Since I received a letter to sit on the bench for this case. Now, gentlemen, we are not savages and we will not forget ourselves to act as such on the people's court…" the elderly knight addressed his fellow jurors.

"Now I have everyone's attention, let's get down to the business at hand so that we may get back home in time for dinner with our families," Sir Rochefort started. "Perhaps the Monsieur Fritz Milien would like to voice his suggestions?" MIlien accepted the invitation to speak and put forward a passionate case for his master to be released without further ado. If it weren't for the French knights' swords and Rochefort's pistol, he would have been set upon.

One by one, the other jurors took their turn to voice their opinions and put forward their case. It was late in the afternoon when an uneasy compromise was finally reached.

* * *

"Your Honour," D'Eon addressed the judge. He had been elected spokesman for the jury. "We, the bench, find Maximilien Robespierre guilty of a lesser charge of _leste majeste_," D'Eon had to force the words out between gritted teeth. "He has indeed insulted the memory of His late Majesty…" He avoided looking Robin in the eye. "With wilful words, but without malice. We propose that he be imprisoned," D'Eon paused to glance over to where Milien was scowling. _Perhaps he should be thankful no poems had been used to influence the jury._ "We propose that he be imprisoned for a year and a day from the time of his first being taken into custody."

Robin had apparently resigned himself to prison and was staring at his feet. He did not protest the jury's decision. Finishing his speech, D'Eon slumped back into his seat. He barely heard the judge pass sentence, but he was aware of a pair of blue-violet eyes glaring at him.

**Author's Notes:**

A brawl in the courthouse. Looks like Robin will be singing the jailhouse blues for a bit. At least it beats the hangman. But Milien is not going to be very forgiving towards his uncle.


	54. Thorns on the Rose

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 54 – Thorns on the Rose**

"Max, it is all for the…" D'Eon grasped Milien's arm as the last stragglers left the courthouse.

"Unhand me, you liar! You know he spoke the truth," Milien pulled his arm free. "They'll kill him in there…"

"They wouldn't…" D'Eon said. He had expected this from his nephew. Milien had been sullen since he grudgingly agreed to the compromise. Still, there was a risk that Robin could be killed in a prison brawl or die from goal fever. Prisons weren't known to be healthy places, unless the prisoner was fortunate enough to have help from high places. The duke of Orleans was still out of town. Perhaps a discreet bribe to the warden's pocket would give Robin a solitary cell out of reach of any prison riff-raff who might wish to harm him.

"The pansy bothering you, Mil?" Cagliostro hiccupped. He was clearly drunk and leaning heavily on Lorenza's arm. D'Eon could barely recognize the poet. She had aged since they last met. Maybe he had aged too. Max had been a mere child when he used the poems to rescue his uncle. Now he was a young man, as D'Eon was when he first entered the knighthood.

"Let's go," Milien shrugged and strolled out. He hated to admit it but it could have been worst. _If the charges had been treason and sedition… _Milien shuddered. He was going to watch his step in the coming days. Jean Paul would not appreciate his plans to destroy Robespierre being brought to nought.

* * *

"Auguste… ooh, that tickles…" Natalia gasped as the king kissed the lobe of her ear. The queen had been obliged to oversee one of her theatrical rehearsals that evening and Auguste wanted some time in Natalia's company. Dinner was taken in the privacy of her chamber, with them feeding each other morsels. Now clad only in their undergarments and tumbling about among the bedclothes, Natalia thought it now safe to breach the question she wanted to ask the king.

"Auguste… ah, I have to know… How are things improving between you and Marie?" Auguste paused in his ministrations at her words. "Why?" he pouted like a spoiled little boy.

"France needs a dauphin, you know that too…" Natalia replied.

"You make us sound like some bull. We can do it with Her Majesty, if we pretend she is you…" Auguste said impishly as he undid the ribbons of her corset.

"Auguste!" Natalia gasped. It would never do if he cries out her name while going about his business with his wife. The queen had blond hair, but she was a small woman. Natalia was tall for her age and her gender, like her mother was, so her uncle always said. Soon she would be taller than the queen. Natalia idly wondered what it would be like to carry Auguste's child in her womb. Uncle D'Eon would probably die of shock and possibly shame if that happened. He was such a prude. She yanked the corset and chemise over her head.

"Natalia… you drive us crazy. We love you…" Auguste moaned as he cupped her breast with one hand and slipped the other down to her bare bottom…

* * *

Soon it was over. An exhausted Auguste slumbered beside her in her bed. Natalia laid back and gazed sadly at her sleeping lover. A narrow shaft of light from the fireplace lit his features. There was a soft tapping on the door. Natalia arose, felt about for her chemise. Failing to find it, she grabbed Auguste's discarded shirt instead and threw it on. The tapping became more insistent. Natalia rubbed her eyes and pulled aside the bed curtains.

"Max?" she recognized her brother silhouetted against the glow from the fire. "Looking for this?" Milien inquired as he held out her chemise. His boot tapped a steady rhythm against the carpet.

Red-faced, she grabbed the garment from him. "How long have you been here?" she asked in a whisper. "Enough to verify that His Majesty enjoyed your company in bed…" Milien replied tartly. He watched bemused as his twin fumbled with the king's shirt. It hung baggily on her slender frame. Natalia shed the shirt and pulled the chemise over her head.

"Quit looking, we aren't children anymore," Natalia whispered and shoved her brother lightly in the chest. As children, they had often shared their baths.

"Max?" Milien suddenly bent over and clutched his chest. "Max… you're bleeding…" Natalia peeled back the cloth of his shirt. Blood was starting to seep through the bandages underneath.

"It's just a flesh wound," Milien gasped. "I'm fine, Lia." He had been surprised by a gang of Jean Paul's thugs outside a coffeehouse the night before and received a slash across his ribs before he could draw his sword. "Nonsense…" Natalia forced him to sit down in a chair. She rolled up her sleeves and inspected the wound. "Lorenza fixed it… ow…" Milien choked back a gasp of pain as she peeled back the bandages. The wound was raw and fevered. Lorenza had dressed it sloppily. It had not been cleaned properly.

Natalia poured out a basin of water and started cleaning it with a towel. "You have another on your thigh…" Blood was starting to stain his breeches. "Wait…" he cried out as his sister knelt down and tugged on his breeches. "Come on, Max, you don't have anything I haven't seen before…" Natalia teased as the breeches finally fell to his knees. This wound was deeper and starting to ooze pus. "You didn't even bother to have this properly cleaned, did you?" Natalia dabbed gently at the raw wound on her brother's thigh.

"Max, quit it. The secret police are after you… even your fellow revolutionaries are after your neck. There are other ways…"

"Like whispering in his ear when he's in bed with you?" Milien nodded over to where Auguste was snoring. "Lia, there are those out there who want you dead…"

"Max, I can't leave him…"

"Sure, I know… Duty to France. Like uncle… I suppose I should thank him for not letting them exile Master Robespierre."

"Uncle D'Eon did the best he could, within the circumstances. _Leste majeste_ is a serious offence. He even bribed the warden so that your master could have his own cell. As for Auguste… Max, have you ever been in love?"

"Yes, once with a little black-haired hussy, until she turned out to be spying on me for her dear Mama." He had enjoyed Charlotte's company until he got the feeling she was keeping an eye on him for Madame Roland. He hated to admit that he missed sharing his bed with her. "Your tongue says one thing but your heart says another," Natalia chided. "You like her, don't you?"

"I don't…" Milien looked away. "I suggest you marry her, run off someplace quiet and start a little family. Uncle will love it to have a pack of little imps calling him Granduncle. He'd spend his days sitting by the fire telling them stories, while they play him for a monkey…" Natalia continued her teasing. "Max, your happiness is mine as well. I know I cannot be his wife, Max. No matter we love each other. France cannot accept a bastard like me for a queen."

"You believe he loves you then?" Milien pulled up his breeches. His sister had dressed his wounds after cleaning them.

Auguste yawned and stretched. It was time for him to leave. Milien kissed his sister on the cheek before darting silently to his secret passageway. Natalia gathered up the discarded bandages and threw them on the fire.

"Natalia, oh, you are up…" Auguste sat up sleepily. "Come join us. It's cold out…" he yawned.

* * *

It was only a few days later that the first attempt on Natalia's life was made.

Their Majesties had accepted an invitation to attend a tea at the Austrian embassy. Given her position as royal mistress, it was no surprise that the ambassador did not extend an invitation to her. She had expected that her relationship and influence over King Louis XVI was not well-received, even by her former patron, Empress Marie Therese. The Austrians tended to be more prudish. So Natalia was alone in the rose gardens. She cared little for the company of nobles who wished only to have her influence the king in their favour. The Duke of Orleans often sought her out to bounce off some ideas for some policies. But he was away…

Taking her book under her arm, she sat down on a swing under the shade of spreading chestnut tree beside the lake. The _Memoirs of a Marquise _promised a bit of afternoon leisure. She was almost drowsing when something caused her to glance up. She was no longer alone. There were three, no, four men approaching her. Something about their movements was wrong. They did not walk with the noble's strut but clung to the shadows. Instead, she saw that they were masked as they closed in.

"Who goes there?" she shouted and leapt to her feet, ready to flee. She was unarmed and outnumbered. The attackers moved forward silently as one. Hampered by her skirts, she was swiftly overtaken and seized. One clapped a handkerchief over her mouth, stifling any screams for help.

They manhandled her over to the little pier stretching into the lake and shoved her in. As soon she hit the water with a loud splash, the assassins turned and fled. What they failed to account for was Natalia's swimming abilities. Most noblewomen and a good many French gentlemen did not swim. However, Natalia had been swimming since she was a child, and was an able swimmer. Still her heavy skirts threatened to drag her down. She struck out for the pier pilings and clung onto them, coughing and spitting water.

She scanned the surroundings for any sign of her attackers. Finally convinced there was no danger, she started the climb onto the pier. It was a cold and weary trudge back to the palace. Etienne was horrified when he encountered her on the garden path.

"Nat, what happened?" Etienne gasped.

"I fell into the lake…" Natalia lied. She did not want her uncle to know about the attack. Uncle D'Eon had more than enough on his mind with Milien's coolness and revolutionary fervour. "What are you doing here?" she asked. The captain should be at home with Sir Rochefort, meeting a potential fiancée. "Well, I met a friend and…" Etienne started.

"Give her your coat, Etienne…" Milien stepped out from the shadows. "Etienne, he shouldn't be here… atchoo!" Natalia sneezed.

"I insisted, Lia… he comes to the lake or I introduce his future-in-laws into the speeches of the coffeehouses," Milien said. "Honestly, I think I did him a favour. Marquis d'Bonville's daughter is probably in the family way by some manservant… She has the morals of an alley-cat and the tastes of one."

"How did you know she would be in danger?" Etienne marvelled. He stared at the pair. The resemblance between Milien and Natalia struck him. "Are you two related? Lord, did Master D'Eon have two children out… OW!" the hapless redhead bent over in agony from the punch Milien dealt out. "That person is not our father," Milien said.

"You mean you two are brother and sister? Milien, you should not be mixing with the rebels… especially that Maximilien Robespierre guy…" Etienne muttered, shaking his head as he handed Natalia his coat. "Jeez… look at the time… I must go apologize to Sir Rochefort and the Marquis…" Etienne rushed off to fetch his hat, which had been knocked off by Milien's punch. The twins were left alone.

"I will be careful, Lia. Not to get caught. But you…" Milien took his sister's hand in his. "What happened was not accident. You don't fall into lakes…"

"I will try not to be killed," Natalia replied. She was certain that some persons would be very surprised when she showed up at the next court function unharmed.

"Have Etienne near. Don't go off alone…" Milien stroked her hair.

"Then I will risk Etienne as well… Why? Why do they want to kill me?" Natalia allowed herself to be hugged by her brother. It was getting cold.

"You know why… It is the same why Master Robespierre is behind bars. There are some who want to stop us from changing France," Milien kissed her on the forehead. It was a goodbye kiss. He had to go off before the guards discover his presence. He was no longer the duke's clerk and had no reason to be the gardens of Versailles. He wished he could be with Natalia all the time to protect her but he knew it was impossible. Natalia would have to fend for herself.

* * *

"Natalia!" Auguste and Marie Antoinette looked up in alarm when she trudged in still dripping lake water. Captain Etienne Rochefort bowed to the king and queen but did not bend the knee as he was supporting Natalia. "I had an accident on the lake shore, but Etienne helped me…" Natalia smiled.

"You need a doctor, and to get warm… You'll catch your death of cold… Captain, get the doctor!" the king commanded. They had endured a tiresome reception with the Austrians and had expected to relax in Natalia's company. Natalia was good with a violin and excelled at making intelligent conversation. Etienne hesitated. "Hurry!" Marie shouted. The captain hurried off.

The queen rang for her maids of the chamber. They needed to get Natalia undressed and into bed.

**Author's Notes:**

Someone wants Natalia out of the way.


	55. A Poisoned Cup

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 55 – A Poisoned Cup**

D'Eon stiffly offered his arm to Natalia. She reluctantly rested a hand in the crook of his elbow. It was a stuffy court function both Their Majesties were hosting. Given the presence of Count de Mercy, the Austrian ambassador, Sir Rochefort was wise in suggesting that D'Eon escort his niece. The elderly knight had taken to his bed with a bad cold. D'Eon was not too thrilled that Robbie had chosen to accompany them. Etienne hovered watchfully nearby as Natalia greeted various nobles. D'Eon wondered why his former student was so nervous about his niece. With Natalia hanging on his arm, he allowed her to steer him from conversation to conversation.

"The Duke of Orleans was presented with a healthy baby boy by his duchess… they expect to return in spring…" a countess purred as she chatted with Natalia. "Really?" Natalia glanced over to where Auguste and Marie were dancing. Marie Antoinette enjoyed dancing and Auguste was having some difficulties keeping in step with the music. "It is awfully long to leave his matters in Paris alone especially since his clerk has left…" Natalia let go of D'Eon's hand momentarily to adjust a loose ribbon. "Excuse me, uncle… I need to go to the…" Natalia smiled sweetly.

"Of course," D'Eon watched as his niece left the ballroom. Robbie made as if he were going to follow her but Etienne stopped him. Any woman should be entitled to privacy in her toilet. The Englishman was swiftly distracted by a buxom viscomtess.

"Sir D'Eon? Alone?" a familiar voice called out. D'Eon turned to see Cagliostro and his companion. _What were they doing here?_ "You should not let her out of your sight," Lorenza smiled grimly. They dressed as nobles and he had not noticed them until Cagliostro called out to him. The Italian looked tipsy. "What are you doing…" D'Eon started.

"They are here as guests, Count Cagliostro and his lady wife are guests at Her Majesty's amateur theatre…" Sir William drawled. "Is that charming young man with you two, or have you left him in the lurch with some palace guard?" the English knight asked.

"Young Milien wouldn't be showing his face here, but it doesn't mean he doesn't keep an eye on his sister – OW!" Cagliostro winced as his 'lady wife' pinched his arm with her manicured fingers. "If you failed to notice, Sir de Beaumont, His Excellency de Mercy has left the room," Lorenza pointed out. "What do you know?" D'Eon demanded. The poet was taunting him. She clearly knew some danger threatened Natalia…

"D'Eon! No time for this. We must go…" Sir William grabbed D'Eon's wrist and hissed. Dropping a small curtsey, Lorenza took her companion by the arm and melted back into the guests. "Robbie! Where's that lad?" Sir William looked about. Robbie and the young noblewoman he had been conversing with have also vanished. Etienne was busy with their Majesties. The Queen was feeling a little faint and the king was ordering Etienne to fetch a physician. Ending the ball so early was unthinkable given the presence of their foreign guests from a number of friendly countries.

It was up to the two knights. Versailles was a huge complex and they had a lot of ground to cover. Natalia could be anywhere. William opted to search the winding corridors of the Long Gallery while D'Eon hurried over to the royal apartments. Natalia could be in her rooms… As he was turning round a corner, he heard voices coming from the rooms once held by Madame Pompadour. _Strange,_ the rooms should be unoccupied ever since Pompadour was found dead there with her neck mysteriously broken so many years ago…

* * *

"Your Excellency," Natalia dropped a curtsey as the two men who surprised her escorted her into the presence of Count de Mercy. She recognized one as a French count's son and the other as de Mercy's clerk. They were not the same men who had attacked her at the lake, though she suspected they worked for the same master. Ordinarily, she could have fought them off if she wanted to. However, it was clear they did not intend to harm her yet. Instead, they had requested her to follow them.

"I was surprised you survived drowning, Baronne… but then again witches are said to be nigh impossible to drown," de Mercy's greeting confirmed her suspicions. A patina of neglect hung over the room. Dust and cobwebs hung from the draperies. A lit candle showed the ambassador but the light was not strong enough to pick out the other men who held in the shadows.

"Your men underestimate me, Count," Natalia replied. "Is it the Empress' orders that bring us here?" The count did not reply but motioned her to take a seat in an armchair facing him. Natalia cautiously obliged before he continued.

"You are mistaken, my lady. The Empress is old. She no longer has the stamina to intervene in the matters she once did. Regrettably, her current obsession is her grandchildren. The archduke, her heir apparent, is most concerned about your influence in Versailles. You see, my lady, Austria needs France to be compliant with our kingdom's interests. For that, it is necessary that Princess Maria Antonia has her husband's ear…" the count poured out a glass of red wine and swilled the contents of the glass as he held it up to the light.

"You forget that Her Majesty is now Queen Marie Antoinette of France… She is French now, why would she bend to her brother's wishes?" Natalia replied. "He has little affection for her…" Marie had confided in her about her isolated childhood. Despite having fourteen older siblings, she was born well into the Empress' later years, when most of her siblings had grown up, married off or perished from some plague. The sight of the wine made her uneasy. It was ruby red, like the ruby choker about her neck. The count did not drink from the glass but set it down on the table at his side.

"Well-said, and you have her ear as well the king's. His Highness cannot allow this state of affairs to continue. He would request that you leave Versailles, permanently. There is a convent in Vienna which might accept you should you find the taking of religious vows to your liking… it is after all, a respectable way for former mistresses to retire…" Count de Mercy said.

"And if I should refuse?" Natalia gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white. "My other orders will be to ensure that the dauphin succeeds his father as soon as possible. The archduke will be ready to step in as regent, should the need arise…" de Mercy said. "I know the French citizenry will not accept that arrangement. Perhaps there would be a war, unnecessary bloodshed." He chose his words carefully. This was a dangerous game he was forced to play at his master's behest.

_Do not listen to him, Lia!_ Her brother's voice called out inside her mind. _He lies!_

"Louis XVI has a cousin, the Duke of Orleans… who has more right as a Frenchman and a member of the royal family to be regent," Natalia pointed out. "If he and his family should live so long…" the count waggled a finger at her. "It is a cruel to ask of you. You are too young and beautiful to be shut up in a cloister. But even you can see that there is no other way about this. My master has spies in many places, ready to do his bidding…"

"Don't dare you touch them!" Natalia hissed. The duke was favourable to the reform much needed by France. He was an ally of hers and her brother's. There was a furious jingling at the door behind her as someone fought for entry. The count nodded at someone in the shadows. The door was yanked open to admit D'Eon. "Natalia!" he cried out before he was swiftly seized and gagged.

"Uncle?" Natalia made to stand but the count place a restraining hand in her wrist. "Sir?" one of the men holding D'Eon enquired. The count nodded. D'Eon was roughly pinned to the carpet.

"Now we will continue with our conversation from where we were so rudely interrupted," de Mercy said. "Surely you do not expect me to stay shut up in a foreign convent when there is so much to be done for my country," Natalia hissed. Her eyes glanced over to where her uncle struggled futilely against his captors.

"Ah, it will be a loss to Louis XVI then. Do it," the count ordered. There was a flash of steel as a dagger was drawn. D'Eon's right forearm was stretched out against the faded carpet. "No!" Natalia screamed as the blade was driven mercilessly into the exposed wrist, severing the tendons. D'Eon was effectively crippled. "You really should consider my offer, Baronne…" the count smiled. The blade moved close to D'Eon's pinioned left arm as his right hand flopped helplessly. Still gagged, he fought in vain against his captors.

"You have no intention of letting me reach Vienna…" Natalia's eyes flashed as understanding dawned on her. That was the reason for Max's warning. She regarded the wine glass and its contents. "It is poisoned wine isn't it?" she stated. This time, de Mercy could not look her directly in the eye. Her turquoise eyes were brilliant in the candlelight. "It is the best for Austria… and France…" the count finally said. There was a muffled cry from D'Eon as one of his captors finally tired of his struggling and bludgeoned him on the back of the head with the dagger-hilt.

Natalia took the wineglass into her hand and shot another glance at her uncle. "Do not harm him further… and get him a doctor…" she added. Blood was soaking into the carpet from D'Eon's pierced wrist.

"You have my word of honour, if you choose to take it," Count de Mercy replied. "I do not have a choice, do I?" Natalia replied quietly. The count nodded silently. It was a rare thing for a woman, let alone a mere girl, to be so composed in the face of such danger. He had expected her to swoon or scream and be killed by his men. And her intruding uncle would swiftly follow her in death. She was worthy adversary and a loss to France with her death.

"See to his wound. This is an order," the ambassador ordered. A semi-conscious D'Eon was manhandled to his feet and out of the room. _"Merci…"_ Natalia breathed a sigh of relief. Now it was her turn to keep her bargain… She lifted the wineglass to her lips. _Lia! NO!_ Her twin's voice screamed in her ears.

_Sorry, Max…_ The wine was liquid fire going down her throat.

* * *

In a forgotten corner of Versailles, Milien stood on the ruined square where his father's lifeblood had been spilled as he bled to death. Ruined and overgrown columns surrounded him. This was the birthplace of the Psalms he now wielded. Cagliostro and Lorenza stood on the edge of this abandoned part of the royal compound. They had no part to play in this drama which the son of Maximilien Robespierre was about to perform. The poems around him glowed faintly, broken and twisted on the shattered columns and tiles.

Sweat ran profusely down Milien's skin despite the chill of the night. There was only a mere shadow of the power here now, where it was once the strongest. "_Those poems you hold are not the Royal Psalms now, but the Psalms of the Revolution…_" a voice chided. _Lorenza…_ Milien tightened his grip on his book. The strain of trying to connect with his sister caused his knees to buckle. The poison was a strong one. _Perhaps it was too late…_

Milien found himself on the weed-strewn tiles. The poison was in his body as well, burning his gullet. He coughed and was not too surprised when he coughed and blood came forth in a bloody spray over the moonlit tiles. He had to take as much of the poison he could, to save her…

* * *

D'Eon was a dead weight in his captors' arms as they dragged him along. "Do we really get him a doctor?" one said as he unceremoniously dumped D'Eon on the floor. "I say we slit his throat and tell His Excellency he died before…" his fellow conspirator said but did not finish his words. The man froze at the chill of steel pressed against the small of his back.

Sir William yawned and pressed the point of his sword closer. "Need assistance, gentlemen?" he drawled. Robbie pressed his dagger blade against the other man's jugular vein. "Hey, can you walk?" the youth nudged D'Eon with a boot. Thankfully, D'Eon stirred and opened his eyes. He staggered to sit up.

"N-Natalia… she's in danger…. De Mercy…" D'Eon gasped as he rubbed the back of his head. His right sleeve was drenched with blood and his hand flopped helplessly. Robbie exchanged a worried glance with Sir William. D'Eon's prowess as a swordsman was lost for good if the injury was as severe as it seemed.

"Where is she, D'Eon?" Sir William pressed. Time was not on their side.

**Author's Notes:**

Natalia is dying of poison, is she? Maybe Milien is dying as well.


	56. A Dram of Friendship

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 56 – A Dram of Friendship**

"We must save her…" D'Eon gasped. "First we must stop your bleeding, sir. You are bleeding like a stuck hog," Robbie nonchalantly smashed his fist into the jaw of the man he was guarding. The hapless man went down like a sack of turnips.

"Forgive us our trespasses…" Sir William said as he quickly sketched a poem onto a nearby tapestry. The man he was guarding went glassy-eyed, like a gargoyle… D'Eon shuddered involuntarily.

"Cauterise his wound," Sir William instructed as he grabbed a nearby candelabra. Shielding his hand from the heat with his vest, Robbie held his dagger blade in the candle flames as they flared. It seemed to D'Eon that the steel burnt red-hot. "Brace yourself, D'Eon…" William warned as he tore open the Frenchman's sleeve to better expose the wound. D'Eon bit back a hiss as Robbie pressed the heated steel to the bleeding flesh. The pain was like a white-hot knife slicing into his skin.

_Natalia… please be alright…_

"That does it," William patted him on the shoulder as the world came back. "Now let's go…"

* * *

"Cagliostro, he can't take it… he is dying…" Lorenza hissed. "What do you want to do? Take the poison yourself?" her companion said. "You know how stubborn he is…" They could only watch as Milien struggled.

_He was dying… He would not see Master Robespierre again…_ Milien gasped and tightened his grip on his book. His vision blurred but he was able to sense a presence beside him. "Please… help…" he croaked weakly. "T-tell M-master Ro…"

"_If you have anything to say to him, say it yourself,"_ a voice quietly chided. It was the same blond man with the solemn look he had seen so long ago when he was a child. Milien figured it was his guardian angel. The shade of Maximilien Robespierre hovered beside the son he never had a chance to acknowledge in life.

"_You are taking too much poison… she can handle it, with help from her English teacher…"_ Maximilien smiled as he knelt down to Milien's level. _"Hold on…" _he squeezed his son's hand with an icy one. Milien was near death. His daughter had Lia's stubborn sense of duty and that was now risking her brother's life.

"Did you see that?" Lorenza blinked. She clutched at her companion's arm. "I see nothing…" Cagliostro hiccupped and took a swig from the bottle in his hand.

"Robespierre's ghost! And I mean Robespierre the First, not that redhead pretender…" Lorenza exclaimed. The faint poems on the ruins seemed to glow more fiercely as the misty figure cradled the near unconscious youth in his arms.

_Max… You must let go of the poison! _Natalia silently pleaded over the pain stabbing through her body. She was aware of her brother drawing the poison from her, but it was too much for a single man to take. She fought to shake his power off as he cling to her. He was always overprotective of her.

Count de Mercy was a hard man. It was for this reason that the archduke chose him to do his work. However, this was proving too difficult. He walked over to the window. The girl was taking too long to die. He silently cursed the man who supplied him the poison. _Why couldn't it be one of those which cast its victims into a painless sleep and death?_ The girl was sprawled on the carpet now, retching and gasping. It was taking far too long. The count considered putting her out of her death agonies with a well-placed stab with his sword. _No, that would not do._ The Archduke's orders were clear on that. The death must appear natural, a seizure perhaps. Anyone would suspect foul play with a stab wound.

"Count de Mercy, you are a heartless bastard…" a clipped English voice said quietly.

"Wordsworth…" the count hissed as he turned on his heel to face the newcomers. His fellow conspirators were standing dull-eyed and immobile around him. No doubt courtesy of the poet. Sir William was the grand master of the English coven of the Revolutionary Brethren. One did not simply step into that post without having some capabilities. The young page held his dagger ready for action, though it seemed that he was not going to need it. D'Eon bent down over his niece.

"Natalia!" he shook her shoulders, trying to rouse her.

"Allow me," the English knight knelt down next to the young woman. "I do hope you were temperate with the poison, Count," he smiled wickedly as he placed his palm against the girl's forehead. "Too much of_ anything_ can kill you…"

"You wouldn't dare…" the count gasped as the realization of what the knight planned to do dawn on him.

"_Yea as we trod in the valley of death, we shall have no fear. For the Lord is our comfort. In six days the Almighty created Heaven and Earth, the angels above and the beasts of the sea and land… On the seventh day he rested. With a word the Heavens and Earth came into being as Light came forth from the Darkness… Likewise we sleep now with the falling of night but will awaken with the morning light, by God's grace…"_ Sir William chanted as he stroked Natalia's feverish brow gently. The pained grimace on her face eased into a peaceful mask of slumber, or death.

The Austrian ambassador staggered and gasped for air. "William, what have you done?" D'Eon asked. It would be awkward for all if the ambassador dies of poison in their presence.

"Nothing much. I just spread the poison a bit among all of us present, apart from you and Natalia…" Sir William smiled weakly as he felt a touch of the same poison in his veins. "There are six men here… barring his Excellency and us. Well, I do think we will survive…" he paused to retch into a nearby chamber-pot. "Someone else was taking the poison from her, probably saved her… but I guess he would be in much worse shape than any of us, if not dead…" the English knight added solemnly after wiping the vomit from his lips.

Robbie had snatched the pot from Sir William and was throwing up into it. Count de Mercy was hanging halfway out the window, being heartily sick and cursing loud enough to prove that he was very much alive, to D'Eon's relief. The other conspirators were now out of their zombie-like trance and were being just as sick. The room now stank of vomit, sour wine and bile.

"Get a doctor, the ambassador and his friends have taken ill from some bad wine," William nudged Robbie. The lad nodded weakly and staggered off.

William slapped Natalia lightly. She did not stir. "We have to send her home, D'Eon… My coach is waiting. Come on, take her arm…" Between the two knights, they half-carried, half-walked Natalia to a William's coach.

"Who do you suppose was drawing the poison from her? Your imprisoned friend?" Sir William asked casually. "No, Robin is not a poet…" D'Eon replied. "It's Max… her brother… Could you tell where he is?" Max probably needed as much help, if not more as Natalia.

"Sorry, old chap…" Sir William answered. "I'm spent as it is. Versailles was the birthplace of the Royal Psalms. Even if they are gone, there is still a faint shadow as long as…" Sir William paused in mid-sentence. They had emerged onto a terrace overlooking the gardens. "Speak of the devil! I believe there's your nephew."

In the garden below, Lorenza and Cagliostro were roughly manhandling a hand-barrow through some overgrown bushes. Draped in the barrow was the limp form of Milien.

"Max!" D'Eon hollered. He handed Natalia to Sir William and sprinted down the terrace steps to the alchemist and poet. "How is he?" he demanded. Milien's eyes fluttered open at his voice, then wearily closed again. D'Eon shoved Cagliostro out of the way as he seized his nephew's shoulder. He was aware that his right hand was not working right, with his new injury. The fingers simply would not close.

"_He'll be fine… after a good rest…"_ Lia's voice whispered in his ear. D'Eon lowered Milien back onto the hand-barrow. Lorenza and Sir William were facing each other, weighing each other up. It was Robbie who now had Natalia leaning on him for support. There was a tense moment as the two poets weighed each other up.

"Mustard seed and boiled water, and loads of prayer and care," Sir William finally spoke. "I see you drew the poison into those fish…" the knight tilted his chin at the fountain where a flotilla of dead and dying fish floated on the water. "You are too kind, grand master…" Lorenza curtseyed ironically. It was not her poems that drew out the poison, but Maximilien's shade. "Lovely as ever, heh, Countess?" Sir William parried.

"I see you are now on the side of the nobility. How like English hypocrisy…" Lorenza tossed back.

"Tell your master that I strongly advise he watches the poets he associates with. Dealing with the devil is a chancy business and damnation at best. Reform is best achieved steadily and gently. That was what worked for England…" Sir William mused.

"Your King Charles I was beheaded, wasn't he? And you chaps have more rebellions then we can count," Cagliostro hiccupped. Both poets ignored his intrusion.

"It is a pleasant night, but I must bid you adieu," Sir William bowed and walked away. "Will! We can't leave him with them!" D'Eon protested. He could trust Robin to care for Milien and nurse him back to health. Robin knew his way about that. But he could not trust Cagliostro and Lorenza in the same way.

"What do you propose? Shelter him under old Rochefort's roof?" William retorted. "Think he'll be grateful and become a knight like you to uphold the de Beaumont honour, for king and country? Nay! More likely he would be off in the coffeehouses as soon as he can get out of bed and… what is it, Robbie?" Robbie was tugging on Sir William's arm even as he shouldered Natalia's weight.

"Those two fled, sir. What do we do with the heap of compost they left?" Robbie asked innocently. Both knights regarded the unconscious form of Milien in the hand-barrow. "Willie, I am not leaving him here," D'Eon insisted.

"Bring him to the coach. I will have him set up quietly in an inn in Paris," Sir William conceded defeat. "Try not to get too attached to the pup. He'll be out with his rebel friends in no time. Mark my words."

His Majesty was frantic with worry when he learnt of his favourite mistress' illness. Sir Rochefort was greeted by no less than five of France's best doctors that morning. Her Majesty's illness turned out to have a more mundane, and some would say, happy explanation. The queen was in the first stages of a probable pregnancy. Sir Rochefort heard that bit of news from Etienne. There was no official announcement yet. Only a select few of the nobles heard of the news. Most of the court was awash with the news that a good many guests from the ball had been poisoned with bad wine.

On orders of the king, a bevy of nurses hovered around Natalia's bed in the Rocheforts' mansion after the doctors advised against moving her to the palace. The king remained in the palace with his now expectant queen but constantly sent messengers to inquire over Natalia's health. The elderly knight and his household tolerated the chaos the best they could. D'Eon was rudely evicted from his niece's sickroom on the grounds of propriety. It was not proper for a man to spend long hours in a young lady's bedchamber. In addition, he was getting in their way, a nurse retorted. Etienne and Sir Michel Rochefort were similarly excluded from the care of the king's mistress. Still, Sir Rochefort ordered his cook to prepare light but wholesome broths for Natalia. Robbie took on the task of bringing the food to Natalia and ensuring that it was not tampered with en route. He was not taking any chances of someone trying to poison Natalia again. His presence was tolerated as the nurses enjoyed his company.

In a quiet inn in Paris, D'Eon, Camile and Francois took turns tending to Milien. Etienne dropped by on occasion to check on D'Eon or send word from Sir Rochefort. D'Eon angrily reflected that the pair of Cagliostro and Lorenza were nowhere in sight. He sponged Milien's feverish brow with a damp cloth. They had to take care that he did not catch a chill from being soaked in sweat. Francois was ready to provide his services as a doctor but D'Eon was wary of the strange potions he prescribed, most of which had Milien throwing up into the chamber pot. Camile sent broth from his wife for Milien.

"Robin will kill me if you die in my care," D'Eon murmured. After three days' of being in bed, Milien was starting to sport a bit of fuzz on his chin. His blond hair hung limp about his pale face. There was a pinched look about his features. D'Eon undid the laces of Milien's shirt. The garments were soaked in sweat. He needed to change the clothes. It was a slow process with only one working hand. D'Eon winced every time his fingers found a fresh wound or an old scar. Living with revolutionaries was not easy.

"I can change my own clothes, you know…" Milien chided weakly and pushed his uncle's hands away. "You need help to change the dressing on your shoulder," D'Eon replied. "No need for it… It should be fine without bandages…." Milien yanked the stained bandages off his shoulder. D'Eon saw it is an ugly wound, most likely from a knife. "Do revolutionaries stab each other in the back?" he asked out loud.

"About as often as nobles and kings do," Milien replied sourly. His fingers fumbled with his buttons. "I got that from a tavern brawl. Never give speeches in a tavern, unless you have a sword… Give me that cloth, I feel all sticky…"

D'Eon handed the damp cloth over to his now-naked nephew. The boy's breeches and shirt lay pooled on the floor. He noted that boy was way too thin. "You have to eat more. You are all skin and bones…"

"All the better to wiggle out of tight spots," Milien retorted as he swabbed his shoulder gingerly. "You should have let Lia stay in London…"

"Lia? You mean Natalia? Why? Aren't you happy to see her?"

"See her, yes. See her as royal mistress, definitely not."

"I did not want her to be royal mistress," D'Eon said. Milien tossed him the grimy washcloth. "Pass me a shirt…" he pointed at the stack of clothes Francois had brought for him. "Thank that Englishman for me, will you? This bed has less fleas than those at Francois'."

D'Eon handed his nephew the shirt. "You need breeches too…"

"I'll pass on those… thank Francois and Camile too…" Milien crawled under the covers as soon as he pulled the shirt on. It was not long before he was snoring.

"_He takes after his father, stubborn." _D'Eon looked up to see his sister smiling at them from the grimy mirror. "Sir Rochefort sent word that Natalia is recovering," D'Eon said. _"I know, but be careful, D'Eon…" _With that warning Lia's image faded from view. D'Eon tried close his injured hand but could not. Francois had warned him that the tendons were severed and there was no hope of recovery.

**Author's Notes:**

A chance for D'Eon to patch things up with Milien. Lorenza and Cagliostro were real useless here, ditching Milien and running. William is a good poet and a valuable ally for D'Eon and Natalia for now.


	57. Royal Orders

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

More royal intrigues afoot. And trouble for poor D'Eon.

**Chapter 57 – Royal Orders**

"It is a sign from God…" the cardinal blustered when Louis XVI shot him a glare. "With prayer and fasting…and the observance of God's laws…"

"Marie is expectant and everyone expects a crown prince… The woman I love lies ill…" Louis XVI complained. "If prayer and fasting will grant us a son and Natalia her health…" The court physicians had warned of the possibility of the queen miscarrying.

"You have to send your mistress away, Your Majesty…" the cardinal twisted his hands nervously. "You are living in sin with her under the same roof as Her Majesty…"

"How dare you! We're king by God's grace," Louis shouted. "But it is by God's grace that you are king," the cardinal started. "Do what you must then, but do not harm Natalia… I will fast and pray as needed," the king waved the cardinal away.

"Sire, there are some papers which need…" the Lord Chamberlain started. With a grumble, King Louis XVI took his quill and signed the documents without a second glance. "_Merci_, sire," the chamberlain bowed, gathered the papers carefully to avoid smudging the ink.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the chamberlain stepped into a room where the cardinal waited with a few French nobles. "His Majesty has signed the papers," he announced to his listeners' delight. "We should deliver them to the lady…"

"Is it a bit harsh?" one count raised his hand timidly. "The road is long and given her illness…"

"Don't underestimate her, Count du Barry," another noble said. "It will be a boon to us if she conveniently dies on the journey. Still the convent is far enough from Paris and Versailles so that she would not influence the king."

The chamberlain smiled. A messenger has been called to send the royal order.

* * *

"But why?" Sir Rochefort stared in disbelief at the royal decree. La Baronne de Beaumont was to be cloistered in the convent in Alps and she was to set forth immediately. "The lady is still weak…" the old knight pleaded for a few more days. "She leaves tomorrow," the leader of the guards assigned to escort Natalia relented. "We need time to prepare the coach…"

"Sir Michel?" Natalia called out softly. The commotion in the hall had drawn her from the parlour where she was resting. "Am I to be cloistered?" _The king had tired of her._ "Yes, mademoiselle…" the poor guard looked at his boots.

"I will be ready tomorrow morning…" Natalia closed her eyes weakly. Her uncle had warned her of this. They all had.

* * *

At some point in the night, sleep had claimed D'Eon as he watched over his sleeping nephew. It took a while for Robbie to learn of D'Eon's whereabouts from Francois. Now he shouted at the window of the inn room, being unable to gain his way past the innkeeper. For good measure, he pelted the shutters with refuse and pebbles.

"D'Eon! You moron! Open up I say!" D'Eon awoke to Robbie hollering. He rubbed his eyes and opened the shutters, only to be hit in the face by a clod of mud.

"What is the meaning of this?" D'Eon demanded.

"They are going to take Natalia away tomorrow! Lock her up in some convent!" Robbie shouted before he sprinted off. D'Eon turned to face his nephew, but the bed was empty. He touched the bedclothes. They were still warm from being slept in. Milien was nearby. There were footsteps hurrying away from the room. D'Eon poked his head into the hallway to catch a glimpse of his nephew loping down the stairs.

"Max! Don't do anything rash!" he called out down the stairs as Milien disappeared out the door.

* * *

Marie was moaning weakly as she bent over the bedpan. "I feel so ill… Is having a baby this hard?" she complained. "A little of this should help…" the court physician suggested as he held up a small vial of clear amber liquid. "Not that stuff, you moron!" the royal midwife retorted. "You can't give a pregnant woman that… It's murder!"

"Take it away! I want my husband and my dear sister Natalia…" Marie shouted and tossed a pillow across the room in a tantrum. The doctors and servants beat a hasty retreat, except for an aged woman who served as royal midwife. She was old enough and had steadfast faith in her own beliefs not to fear royal displeasure.

"Your Majesty, His Majesty is in the royal chapel at prayer for your health and that of your baby and that young baronne has been banished to a convent. It would be best for you and your child if you lie quietly and do not fuss…"

"Why is Natalia banished? There must be some mistake…" The idea of a threesome was awkward at first to her prudish Austrian sensibilities, but since the French considered it _de riguer_ for their king to keep mistresses alongside their lawful wives. Marie Antoinette had to admit that she did enjoy Natalia's company. Her husband could be a bore at times. And Natalia did see to the king's bedroom needs when the queen was indisposed.

"Sin, your Majesty," the old woman shook her head. "King Louis XV came down with a terrible illness for his sins and Heaven struck down both his poor queen and the harlot Pompadour. Believe me, despite what they nobles think… Thou shalt not commit adultery and not even kings are exempt from God's laws."

"Even so, it is not necessary for her to be banished to a convent," the young queen squirmed.

"All the better for her soul, your Majesty… I would recommend prayer more than whatever poison those imbecile doctors offer you…" the old woman fluffed up the pillows and rearranged them on the bed for the queen to lie against. Marie Antoinette settled sullenly onto the cushions. She would have to talk to Auguste about this.

"Captain! You can't!" a maidservant shrilled. Etienne pushed past her. "Your Majesty, I beg of you…" he knelt down before the queen's bed. "Please do not let the king send her away!" he panted. He had ridden his horse half to death between Paris and Versailles. He had been unable to locate the king and the myriad nobles he encountered in the palace were less than helpful about the king's whereabouts. Etienne knew his only hope lay with the queen and whatever meagre power she might hold to stall the royal decree.

"Young man, out!" the old midwife shouted. This was most unbecoming.

"If the news reaches the citizens of France will riot!" Etienne ignored the old woman's protests. "Please! Allow Natalia to remain in Versailles…"

"Natalia de Beaumont is nothing but the king's harlot," the old harridan shouted.

"Silence, you old crone! She's nothing like those other mistresses. She helps make things better for the common people of France and they know it," the redhead leapt to his feet, clenched his fists and fought the urge to hit the wrinkled old woman. For her part, the crone stood with her hands on her hips, staring as if daring him to hit her.

"Stop this foolishness! Oh, my head…" the queen rubbed her temples. "Captain, the king is in the royal chapel…"

"Thank you, Your Majesty…" Etienne breathed a sigh of relief before exiting.

* * *

In the chapel, Auguste knelt in prayer, his fingers feeling the beads of his rosary. He did not see the shadow slide out from the alcove behind him.

"Oh, God, grant that my wife and beloved recover and that my child…" he paused in mid-prayer when he heard a creak behind him. "Who's there- Natalia?" Auguste blinked. He caught a glimpse of pale blond hair and blue eyes as he looked back over his shoulder.

Before he could say more, Milien drove his dagger into the king's shoulder.

"You are not Nat…" the king staggered and slumped forward. Blood flowed freely out of his shoulder. It hurt. _"Oh, Natalia…"_ Auguste gasped as the world swam away from him and blackness consumed him.

* * *

_The chapel… Hurry! _D'Eon did not need to ask for directions as he sprinted down the corridors of Versailles. Not with his sister's voice in his ear. His nephew was up to something, and if he did… There was a distant memory of Milien stabbing the Duke of Burgundy in the back so long ago. His worse fears were confirmed when he reached the chapel and saw that the two footmen outside were both in a trance.

"MAX!" D'Eon burst through the gilded doors.

He was too late. Milien was standing over the limp form of His Majesty, the king of all France, with a bloodied dagger in hand. D'Eon instinctively reached for his sword, forgetting that his right hand was useless and that his sword was on his right hip, all the better for his left hand to reach it. The urge to defend his royal master from potential danger passed.

He ran over to Milien. "Give me that!" he snatched the bloodied dagger from Milien. Milien was staring at his victim with a bewildered look. "He is dead, is he?" he asked his uncle in a small voice.

"No, not yet…" D'Eon could feel a weak pulse. He pressed his hand against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "Pass me that altar cloth," he hissed. Milien complied. D'Eon wrapped the cloth around Auguste's wound and pulled. They had to stop the bleeding. The tiles before the altar were slippery with blood. He wound the end of the cloth round the dagger for more leverage. His right hand was useless so he had to step on one end of the makeshift bandage while he twisted it tight with his left hand.

"Maximilien, get out of here, now!" D'Eon ordered. If anyone were to walk in now, Milien would be in trouble. He had no reason to be here. "Go!" D'Eon shouted. Milien hesitated for a moment then ran into the sacristy behind the altar. Auguste was starting to return to consciousness.

There were boots running towards the chapel. They were followed by an insistent rapping on the door. The redhead captain of the guard, Etienne Rochefort, and the footmen burst through the chapel doors when they received no reply.

"Sir D'Eon!" Etienne gasped in horror at the sight before him. His teacher was holding a bloody dagger in his hand. The king lay in a pool of blood.

"Don't just stand there, get a doctor! Hurry!" D'Eon shouted. He could almost feel Auguste's life slipping away between his fingers.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon is smack in the midst of a regicide. Nice going Milien. The axe for D'Eon if Auguste dies?


	58. Regicide

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 58 - Regicide**

"D'Eon? Tried to…" Sir Rochefort could not bring himself to say those damning words. Etienne buried his face in his hands. Things looked grim for D'Eon. The footmen were unable to testify that anyone had entered the chapel besides the king. D'Eon had been witnessed with that bloody dagger, alone with the seriously wounded king.

"His Majesty…"

"Is seriously wounded and may die," Etienne ran his hand through his hair. The Lord Chamberlain has ordered that Sir D'Eon be held in the Bastille under de Janiere. Things did not bode well for D'Eon. De Janiere has been authorised to use torture to force the truth from the prisoner.

"They suspect he may be with the revolutionaries. Damn! Sir D'Eon would never…" Etienne started.

"If they break him under torture, he might admit to anything. Where is Natalia?" Sir Michel asked.

"The king asked for her when he came to for a short while. The queen ordered a messenger to catch up with her before she left for the convent. She is in Versailles, with the queen… She does not know Sir D'Eon is accused of trying to kill His Majesty…" the captain shook his head. "I dare not tell her… I know de Janiere hates Sir D'Eon. I fear he might overstep his authority… We should stop him…"

"No, we can't act rashly," Sir Michel stroked his whiskers. A letter must be sent to the Duke of Orleans. Only the duke had sufficient clout to help D'Eon.

"Have you seen that English manservant of D'Eon's?" the old knight asked. Etienne shook his head. Robbie had disappeared from the Rochefort house. The Englishman's loyalty was dubious at best.

* * *

His arms ached as if they were on fire. D'Eon tried to raise his head. A fist smashed into his face. He felt a tooth slice his lip and tasted blood. More blood dribbled onto the stones of his cell. This was not right. It was a huge mistake. He was trying to save the king back there… He wanted to protest his innocence. Instead, he kept silent. Maximilien, his sister's son… he must not get him into trouble.

"Never thought you would have the guts to actually try harming your sovereign…"

A hand yanked his head up by his hair. De Janiere spat into D'Eon's face. "So who else is in on this little plot? Sir Michel? The duke? Your sweet little whore of a niece? The king of England?"

D'Eon shook his head.

"Whip him," De Janiere spat. D'Eon flinched at the sharp lash of the whip against his back.

* * *

"Marie, what happened?" Natalia sponged Auguste's brow. The wound was deep and infection had set in. The queen had stayed at his bedside, nursing her husband, until Natalia took over. The queen really should get some rest. She looked awfully pale. "Who dared attack His Majesty?"

The queen shook her head. "We do not know. The Lord Chamberlain has handed him over to the Bastille and Captain De Janiere for questioning. We are sure there is some misunderstanding." She twisted her silk handkerchief in her dainty hands. Natalia was reminded of how Etienne refused to meet her eyes as he ushered her in and the hurried way he took his leave.

"I must know, Your Majesty…" Natalia begged.

"They found him in the chapel with His Majesty, holding a bloody dagger…" the queen started.

"Who?"

"D'Eon de Beaumont. Your uncle." Natalia's heart sank. There was no conceivable reason for her uncle to harm His Majesty.

"Auguste… please wake up. Who did this to you?" Natalia tried to rouse the feverish king. Auguste only moaned softly before sinking back into unconsciousness. "It is no use, Natalia," Marie Antoinette shook her head. "He has not come to his senses apart for to plead for your presence. Etienne and two footmen found him gravely wounded in the chapel, with your uncle…"

"Not… h-him…" Auguste coughed weakly. "The o-other…" That was as far as he got before he blacked out.

Natalia cast a tearful glance at the queen. D'Eon was falsely accused. If Auguste should die, France would fall into chaos. The expectant queen would be a mere pawn in the hands of her ambitious brother and the Austrians. "We cannot order his release, Natalia… We do not have the authority to free anyone from the Bastille… That warden De Janiere only takes his orders from the king or his Lord Chamberlain."

"The Bastille? And the warden is De Janiere? He'd kill Uncle D'Eon," Natalia felt sick to her stomach.

* * *

Milien was not too surprised to see Robbie waiting for him at Francois' place. The English youth stood in the shadows of the alley behind the house. "You sorry runt!" he pounced on Milien and punched him in the face. "I refuse to believe that Sir D'Eon would attack the king."

Milien spat out blood and a molar. Robbie did not bother holding anything back. "He didn't," Milien replied. He pushed past Robbie and opened the door to the Tussad house.

"He refuses to tell them anything about what happened in that chapel," Robbie said quietly. Milien hesitated at the door. "You are going to let an innocent man get accused of regicide and executed?" Robbie pressed. "You are related to Natalia by blood, aren't you? You bear a striking resemblance to her. Do you think Natalia will stand for having the uncle who is both father and mother to her rot in prison or executed like some common criminal?"

The only reply he received was the door slamming in his face. Milien knew he had made a big mistake. Robbie was right. The problem now was how to rescue his uncle. His sister must be fuming and worried sick about their uncle.

"Was he bothering you?" Lorenza asked. Milien shook his head. Robbie was stalking off in the direction of the inn where the English poet Sir William had taken rooms. If Robbie meant to seek the poet's help, perhaps he would need Lorenza's power to…

_No, he would not resort to that._ Only if Sir William forced his hand would he use the psalms against them. After all, Robbie was more concerned with his French master's well-being, or so it would seem.

* * *

Robbie found Sir William in his rooms, busy translating a popular English play into French for the royal drama troupe. When he finished speaking, Sir William only gave a tired sigh.

"Sorry, we cannot interfere in this matter…" Sir William put down his quill and looked at Robbie.

"You believed he is guilty of what he stands accused of?" Robbie grated. The English knight shook his head. "I have my instructions from London not to interfere. And no, I do not believe he is a killer, much less a regicide." The poet looked older in the dying sunlight from his window. The lines on his face seemed etched deeper. His eyes seemed wearier. There was a tense silence.

"Perhaps there is a way I may assist you. You will need papers for travel both for yourself and Natalia. It is not safe for you to remain here in France too long."

Sir William took out a roll of paper and dipped his quill in the inkpot. There were lodges all over Europe and he could as Grand Master of the lodge of London arrange for his friends to offered shelter.

* * *

D'Eon was not even sure if he was still alive, or if his soul had already quit the broken vessel of his body. His consciousness hovered, disembodied as the torturers whipped his back to bloody ribbons and applied the red hot iron to his flesh. _Where's Natalia, how's she? What of Maximilien? Had he been captured? And poor bewildered Etienne, who had tried his utmost to defend D'Eon but was overwhelmed by the damning evidence the footmen laid before the Lord Chamberlain. Sir Michel… _The faces came like ghosts in his mind's eye.

His father and mother. Both were shaking their heads in disappointment. _I didn't do it!_ He protested before them but they faded away like the morning mist in the sun. Sir Teillagory plodded into his view next. His teacher did not even to acknowledge him before plodding off into the shadows.

A sharp pain and searing flesh brought him back to reality. "Think he's half-dead, sir. Shall we send for the doctor? Never do for him to die before we get him to speak."

"Let him hang there a while longer. He might be more cooperative after that."

A bucket of saltwater was roughly thrown over his aching body. Shivering violently with pain and cold, D'Eon kept silent as his tormentors laughed. They were leaving him for now, but soon they would be back.

_"D'Eon, you always were an idiot…"_ Durand's voice chided gently. _"Can't trust you to stay out of trouble, can we?"_

_We? _D'Eon lifted his aching head. The gossamer figures of Durand, Lia and Yvette stood before him. _"Poor D'Eon,"_ Lia's ghostly fingers brushed against his bruised cheek. _"Anna would throw a fit to see him in this state…" _Yvette shook her head. _"Are you coming with us?"_ she offered him her outstretched hand.

_Yes, to die, leave his aching, broken body… and be with his friends and family. _

"N-no… I c-can't…" D'Eon choked the words out in a hoarse whisper through his bloodied lips. Natalia and Max still needed him. He was alone. The ghosts have gone. Never had he felt so abandoned. He closed his eyes and allowed oblivion to wash over him.

* * *

Robespierre sat up when he heard guards approaching his cell. He was treated well enough, two meals of bread or gruel a day, a cell to himself, clean straw and clean water for washing every week. In other circumstances, he would have been dead by now, starved or beaten to death, or dead from fever from sharing a rat-infested cell with up to fifty other prisoners. He knew he had Milien and the duke to thank for it.

"We've got a friend for you, Monsieur!"

The cell door flew open and a dead weight was tossed roughly into his cell. The warden slammed the door shut and locked it. Robespierre could smell the coppery stench of blood in the darkness. Oddly, he was reminded of that day when he had walked in on Anna's dead body and… Gingerly, he felt his way across the cold flagstones to the newcomer. There was thin shaft of moonlight from the barred window, enough for Robespierre to recognize the badly bruised face.

"D'Eon, how the hell did you end up in this sorry state?" Robespierre asked quietly. The man's chest still rose and fell as he gasped for breath. Robespierre helped D'Eon sit up, wincing at the sticky feel of his bloodied back. There was no telling how badly D'Eon was hurt. D'Eon's eyelids fluttered open.

"R-robin…"

"Shush…" Robespierre hissed a warning. He guessed the guards had not gone far. It might be a trap to trick them into careless conversation. Instead, he propped D'Eon up by the wall, beside the pail of brackish water he had been given for washing and handed him a rag. The redhead shuffled over to his corner of the cell. "Try not to die and stink up the place!" he said out loud. _What on earth could have landed D'Eon de Beaumont in such a mess?_ Robespierre wondered if it had anything to do with Milien.

Something big had happened. He did not know what.

"M-max…" D'Eon gasped. _Great, the knight's probably delirious,_ Robespierre pondered if he should gag D'Eon lest he said something to land them both in trouble. There was a weak cough from D'Eon, followed by silence. _Had he died?_ Robespierre got to his feet and walked over to D'Eon.

The knight had his face buried in his knees. His injured back made it difficult for him to lean against the wall. "You are a fool. Loyal to His Majesty and this is how you end up. At least you are still alive, well barely and for now."

* * *

"Auguste, you must release Uncle D'Eon…" Natalia pleaded. She had hurried to the palace as soon as the queen sent word that His Majesty's fever had broken. "But the chamberlain said he attacked us… we can't allow that…" Auguste frowned. The pain and medicines the royal doctors urged on him made him groggy. "The witnesses, including Captain Etienne Rochefort, saw him standing over us with a bloodied dagger." He closed his eyes wearily.

"Etienne told me he was trying to stop your bleeding," Natalia took the king's hand in hers. "Enough, he stays in the Bastille for now…" Auguste yawned and drifted off into a drugged sleep. Marie Antoinette shook her head. "We're sorry, Natalia… we cannot release him…"

"The warden, de Janiere, would kill him with his torture!" Natalia shouted. "Auguste, please, wake up… tell us who did this to you?"

"Sorry, Natalia, His Majesty cannot recall what happened in the chapel…" the queen shook her head. Natalia frowned. She needed to get her uncle out of prison. She excused herself from the royal couple's presence and went to her apartment at Versailles. She needed a plan, and fast, before D'Eon dies from torture or the sheer unwholesomeness of a prison cell. Her uncle's health was not as sturdy as it once was. She was so distraught she did not register her brother's presence in the room.

"Lia…" Milien placed a hand on his twin's shoulder. Natalia was so distracted that he could not reach out to her in their usual way. His calls simply went unanswered. Perhaps he was too distracted himself to use the poems properly.

"Don't touch me, Max! You shouldn't even be here," Natalia shook his hand off her shoulder. She spun on her heel and glared at him. "Do you know who did this, Max?" she asked. She need not say more. The way he refused to meet her eyes told her all she needed to know.

"Max! He is our king," she whispered. "We've got to save Uncle D'Eon."

"I know. I've made a mistake. Perhaps I should have stayed with him in that chapel," Milien tried to placate his sister.

"No, you had to leave," Natalia relented. "How do you propose we rescue Uncle D'Eon?"

"By royal orders. Do you know where His Majesty keeps his letters and papers, don't you?" he folded his arms across his chest and bit his lip pensively. What he was suggesting could get them both in trouble.

"Max, that is…" Understanding his meaning, Natalia's eyes widened in shock.

"It is the only way. The queen has no authority to order his release. And His Majesty is in no state to give the orders…" Milien explained. He had learnt how to mimic another's handwriting and was no stranger to forging documents for Master Robespierre. This was something on a different scale. Not even Cagliostro and Lorenza would consider forging a document of such importance. He waited for his twin to reconsider his proposal.

Finally, Natalia took his hand in hers. "Come."

**Author's Notes: **

Natalia and Milien are getting into more trouble forging papers for saving D'Eon. Robin and D'Eon's paths cross again.


	59. An Order for Release

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 59 – An Order for Release**

Natalia showed her brother to the king's study. Milien wasted no time in seizing a roll of paper and a quill. Natalia found a stack of letters Auguste had written and passed one to her brother. He unfurled a letter the king had written and dipped his quill into the inkpot. He paused a moment and looked at his sister.

"Lia, we are about to commit a treasonous act. Even if we get Uncle D'Eon out, you will never be able to remain in France," he said solemnly in a whisper. Exile would be the safest for his sister and uncle if they managed to free him.

"I know, Max, but I will worry about that later…" Natalia replied. With a nod, her twin put the nib of his quill to paper. Natalia stood guard outside the study, on the off-chance a guard might come by. One did.

* * *

"Nat? What are you doing here? Is His Majesty better?" the redhead Captain Etienne spotted Natalia from the end of the long corridor. He hastened to her side. He was accompanied by Robbie. The English lad cocked his head slightly. Natalia was definitely up to something. There was a hint of nervousness in the way she stepped quite deliberately before the ornate door she was standing before. However, he held his tongue.

"Natalia, I'm so sorry about Sir D'Eon…" Etienne took the blond girl's hands in his. Concern was written all over his face. "You look pale. It is late… Perhaps I should see you back to your rooms…" He had never seen his childhood friend look so frail.

"No, I am fine, really…" Natalia managed a weak smile. "Besides, I wish to stay up a while longer…" she added aloud in hopes that Milien would hear her and be warned that she was not alone outside the study. The study doors were crafted from heavy oak and did tend to muffle sound. She tried to urge Etienne to return to his post but Etienne was loathe to leave her unattended.

Robbie walked nonchalantly over to an ornate silver vase and made a show of interest in an oil painting of Queen Marie and her young son Auguste. The doors to the royal study opened.

"Lia, I'm done," Milien stepped out of the study with his forged orders for release. Surprise, then shock filled his blue-violet eyes when he saw Etienne and Robbie. The captain was surprised to see Milien as well.

"Mil, what are you doing? What is this?" his eyes moved franticly from Milien to Natalia. He should take his friend Milien into custody. The blond youth was clearly trespassing on palace grounds. His duty as captain demanded that he did so. Milien reached for the pistol at his belt just as Etienne's hand gripped the hilt of his rapier.

"No!" Natalia gasped. Then Etienne's eyes suddenly rolled back in his head and he slumped forward. "Apologies, _mon ami…_ but this is for the best," Robbie said crisply as he caught and lowered Etienne onto the carpet. He had rapped the hilt of his dagger on the back of the hapless captain's skull, rendering him unconscious.

"Natalia, don't just stand there. We must get him outta the way," Robbie tore the sashes off the drapes to use for rope. "Wait," Milien said. An idea just struck him. He started undressing the captain.

"Whatever are you doing?" Natalia exclaimed. Robbie nodded, catching onto Milien's idea. The uniform of a royal guardsman would gain them easier access to the Bastille and make the orders for release more believable. Natalia soon caught on as well. She whispered an apology into Etienne's ear as she gagged him with her handkerchief. The captain was divested of his wig and stripped down to his shirt. Robbie looped the curtain sashes round his ankles and wrists tying them tight behind his back. It was an uncomfortable position to be in.

"How do I look?" Milien grinned mischievously. He had donned Etienne's uniform and wig, transforming himself from a scruffy clerk to a guardsman. Etienne was starting to come to.

"Come on, Etienne…" Robbie took hold of Etienne and dragged him over to a large linen closet. He opened the closet, tossed out half its contents before bundling a protesting Etienne in. A maid servant or footman would notice the mess of linens outside and hopefully find the captain.

"There is no time to waste," Milien declared as he rolled up the orders he had forged and sealed with the king's personal stamp. He placed the papers inside his coat.

"I'll ready a coach," Robbie whispered and hurried off. There was no turning back now.

* * *

"Sir D'Eon?" Robespierre prodded his cellmate with a foot. The knight was in very bad shape, unable to keep down any of the water Robespierre had thought to pour past his bloodied lips. He inched towards the limp form sprawled on the dirty straw and felt gripped his shoulder gently. He was burning with fever. The wounds on his back must be infected.

"Robin…" D'Eon gasped weakly as his eyelids fluttered open. "You must help Max…"

"What has he done this time?" Robespierre asked. A knot of dread formed in the pit of his stomach. D'Eon must be delirious to mention his nephew now or ask that Robespierre take care of him.

"The king… he stabbed the king…" At those words, Robespierre dropped the rag that he was soaking with water to bring down D'Eon's fever. _Mil, you little moron_… he chided inside himself. If D'Eon had broken under torture and told, his little protégé would be hung in a marketplace, if he were lucky. He picked up the sopping rag and wiped D'Eon's feverish brow. His back felt horribly sticky. Dawn was approaching and it would not be too long before the approaching daylight revealed the full extent of his injuries.

Already, the grey light of dawn told Robespierre that D'Eon's nose had been broken. A few teeth were probably knocked out of his swollen mouth. His long hair had been crudely hacked off, presumably because it got in the way of the whip. His breeches were stained with blood. It pained Robespierre to see the sorry state of his former comrade. But in his fevered state, D'Eon might blurt out the truth if the guards came for him again. For a fleeting moment, Robespierre considered putting D'Eon out of his misery and silencing the danger posed to Milien. There was a small butt of water in the corner. It would not be too farfetched for a prisoner to try for a drink, stumble in his weakened state and drown in that. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the tattered remnants of D'Eon's hair.

He hesitated when a memory of Mademoiselle Lia and Anna popped into his mind. The Robin they knew was not a killer. _But he was no longer Robin, was he?_ He released D'Eon. Dawn had broken. D'Eon's back was a bloodied mess of lashes and bruises. He had also been tortured with a hot iron. Robespierre retreated to his shadowy corner of the cell and squatted on his haunches.

"De Beaumont!" the guards were back. The door of the cell was thrown open with a crash. Robespierre looked up. Two guards hauled D'Eon to his feet and half-dragged him out. Robespierre got up. He had caught a glimpse of a familiar pair of blue-violet eyes outside in the corridor, just before they locked the cell door on him.

* * *

"_An order for release?" the warden doubtfully skimmed through the royal order. Milien kept his back ramrod straight and his features frozen in a mask of indifference. De Janiere was no fool. Milien thanked Natalia silently for tearing off the insignia of captain from his uniform. It was unlikely that a common guardsman would be entrusted with such an important duty but it was even more unlikely that the warden would fail to recognize that Milien was not the captain. _

"_His Majesty has recovered and wishes to show mercy to this miserable knight? I thought he would send that red-haired spaniel of his to send me the orders…"de Janiere puffed on his pipe. _

"_The Captain is unfortunately preoccupied with the queen's linens, sir."Milien said in a flat voice. The warden chuckled. Gossip and snide remarks about Her Majesty's unseemly interest in her handsome captain were widespread among the rank and file. _

"_Perhaps His Majesty wishes to question him personally," Milien added a slight threat in his words. King Louis XIV did have a secure dungeon built under his palace to hold and question some of his nobles during the rebellion. "Very well…" the warden put aside the royal orders and called for the guards._

* * *

D'Eon was aware of being dragged out of Robin's cell and into a cold waiting room. They unlocked his shackles. As soon as he was released, D'Eon's knees buckled beneath him, much to the amusement of his tormentors. "Get dressed!" The guards tossed D'Eon's clothes onto the floor before him before leaving him alone with Milien. It was clear to Milien that his uncle was in no state to dress himself. He picked up the discarded shirt and put it on D'Eon.

"The bastards…" Milien hissed softly as his fingers ghosted over D'Eon's back. The awkward way D'Eon held his right hand did not escape him. He placed a hand on D'Eon's and whispered a poem, willing the damaged tendons to mend. D'Eon felt warmth flowing into his hand. Then he recognised the royal guardsman bending over him.

"Max, no…" he shook his head weakly. "It's only a small poem, uncle. So that you will be able to protect Lia later," Milien ended his poem. The damaged hand had healed with only a few scars and the fingers were moving slightly. D'Eon managed to raise his hand to his shirt collar and fumble with the laces. Blood oozed from his back, staining his shirt. Milien hurriedly placed D'Eon's overcoat on his shoulders, so that his sister would not be too alarmed by the amount of blood.

D'Eon managed to stuff his bruised and raw feet into his stockings and shoes. He put his arms into his coat sleeves. There was nothing he could do about his hair or his face.

* * *

Together, with D'Eon limping badly and Milien placing one arm around him to steady him, they emerged from the Bastille. Robbie held the reins of two coach horses pawing impatiently at the cobblestones. The coach was nondescript and could be one of the hundreds or so which plied their trade on the highways of France. Waiting inside was Natalia. She broke into a smile when she saw the pair.

Milien all but shoved D'Eon in the coach before clambering in himself. Without waiting for Milien to close the door, Robbie cracked the whip and took off at a steady trot, the best he could manage in the busy streets.

"He has a fever. They will be looking for you, once de Janiere finds out the orders were forged," Milien explained. Natalia gasped at the sight of her uncle's bloodied breeches and the blood starting to soak through the back of his coat. "He needs a doctor… Robbie!" she stuck her head out the window.

"The Tussad house," Milien ordered crisply as he tossed his wig and bundled uniform coat out the window into a midden heap. He was done playing a royal guardsman. Francois had enough medical knowledge to tend to D'Eon. It was a pity he could not write an order of release for his master. But that would really be tempting fate. Master Robespierre was due to be released in a few more weeks, before the start of winter.

Robbie shouted a curse back in his native tongue but turned off the main thoroughfare in the direction of Francois' dwelling. It was no longer safe for Natalia or D'Eon to return to the Rocheforts. Sir William might be able to aid them, but he was staying in a public inn. The other guests might get suspicious. So they were left with their struggling medical student.

**Author's Notes:**

At least D'Eon gets his right hand healed thanks to Milien.

Will I stop putting D'Eon, his niece and company in the face of danger and court intrigues? I guess not. Next stop, if D'Eon doesn't die or get caught, Russia. It is high time to pay Empress Ekaterina a visit. And maybe settle that outstanding duel with Sergei.


	60. St Petersburg

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 60 – St Petersburg**

Russian winters are notoriously harsh. Both Natalia and Milien knew this fact well from their St Petersburg childhood. If Natalia and D'Eon were to make St Petersburg before winter, they had to be on the road within the week. Natalia tended to D'Eon's injuries in the safety of the Tussads' attic while the hue and cry was raised about an assasin's bold escape from the Bastille. Francois had pronounced D'Eon beyond all hope when they brought him in but was pleased to discover his patient alive in the morning. Robbie called on Sir William to obtain the necessary travel papers, fast horses and sturdy coach. He would have to get maps and risk driving it himself since they could not hire someone they could trust.

Sir Michel Rochefort had been questioned but released. Etienne was recovering from his head wound. His Majesty had recovered sufficiently to order that the Rocheforts not be harassed by the police. That was a great relief to both Natalia and Milien.

Despite Francois' arguments to the contrary, Natalia and Robbie half-carried, half-dragged a weakened D'Eon into the coach barely four days into his recovery. Milien was there to bid his sister farewell.

"Lia, please take care," he kissed her on the cheek. Uncle D'Eon's name would probably never be cleared, not within endangering Master Robespierre and the other revolutionaries.

"You too, Max," Natalia gave his hand a little squeeze, before giving him a hug. Robbie tapped his driving crop on the coach impatiently. Dawn was breaking soon. They would have to leave.

* * *

The following weeks passed in a haze of pain and fever for D'Eon. Natalia and Robbie left France as soon as D'Eon's condition and the roads allowed. Afterwards, they stopped at the Brethren lodges where Sir William's letters granted them access to lodgings, provisions and medical aid. Natalia and Robbie passed themselves off as a pair of English cousins, Lia and Robert Fairchild, bound for St Petersburg on urgent family matters. Their uncle, Jacques was French and a victim of bandits. Sir William's letters staunch most questions but not all. Robbie often left the nursing to Natalia while he spun out yarns to convince their hosts. They never stayed long at any lodge.

Slowly and steadily, they plodded their way across Europe, heading north, and passing through Cologne, Prague and Budapest. By the time they reached the borders of Russia, D'Eon had recovered sufficiently in body and spirit to be aware of his surroundings. He had taken this path many years before at the height of summer. Now it was close to winter. Robbie had to drive late into the night, risking bandits and outlaws on the highway, before they could find a suitable inn. D'Eon glanced at his niece. However, through the haze, D'Eon was vaguely aware that something was bothering his niece. She seemed to be paler. He thought it was worry over his health and the strain of hard travel.

They had left the inn early for the road, well before sunrise, as soon as Robbie had ensured that their horses were fit for the road ahead. The trio shared a simple breakfast of dark rye bread, stale cheese and watered wine. Natalia barely touched her breakfast.

"STOP!" Natalia suddenly screamed. Robbie managed to bring the coach to a thundering halt. Natalia stumbled out and over to the side of the road and retched.

"Natalia?" D'Eon asked. _Was she sick?_ _Or was it the poison she had ingested back in France? _

"Robbie, get a doctor!" he staggered out on shaky legs. Robbie only shrugged.

"Done that already in Cologne, Sir. Lady Natalia is well enough, well on the path to motherhood. Sir?" Robbie turned at the sound of D'Eon falling from the coach flat on his face at the revelation.

* * *

Using the last of their gold, Robbie managed to secure them the use of a house in the centre of the business district of St Petersburg which was conveniently near the English embassy and a Russian lodge under the Brethren. When questioned by D'Eon on his business with the Brethren and the embassy, Robbie would only smile enigmatically and shake his dark head. D'Eon guessed that Sir William had recruited the youth to work in St Petersburg on the behalf of the English court. Robbie brought back enough food from the lodge and embassy to feed them.

The gusting early winter winds wreaked havoc with his injuries but D'Eon braved the streets in hopes of finding a job, to no avail. Natalia's condition was becoming more apparent and they would need money to hire a midwife soon. Going to the Empress was a last resort. D'Eon had enough of royalty and imperial courts to last a lifetime, perhaps several lifetimes. If he and his sister had been born to a common household… Perhaps their lives would have been different. Robbie tartly remarked that in all probability, his life would have been squandered on some battlefield. And Lia would be working the streets with a dozen brats to feed after her husband ended up dead in a brawl.

Their situation took a grim turn when the snows came. Running low on firewood, the trio took to cowering before the kitchen stove with the few blankets they had. The roof rafters creaked dangerously from the build-up of snow. Grumbling, Robbie took a shovel and clambered onto the roof. He continued doing this risky and tiresome chore until a patch of ice caused him to slip and tumble off the roof. D'Eon knew immediately from the awkward way Robbie was sprawled on the snow that he had broken his leg.

With a broken leg and strict orders from the embassy's doctor for bed rest, Robbie's work and income from the embassy came to a pause. D'Eon was reaching the end of his rope. There were a few merchants who would like a foreign tutor for their little ones, but D'Eon's lack of references made it difficult to win their trust. Natalia's time drew ever nearer and their funds dwindled to almost nothing.

* * *

One winter evening found D'Eon rubbing his hands together for warmth and shivering outside a lawyer's office after a failed attempt to secure a clerk's job. He had sold his gloves and good cloak. His remaining garments were all worn but well-mended and clean from Natalia's care but did little to protect him against the cold. His belly growled in protest as he had not had anything since a bowl of thin gruel from the evening before.

"You son of a worthless cur!" a voice shouted in French. There was the sound of something breaking inside the offices before a livid Russian cavalry officer stormed out. The Frenchman stepped out of the way to allow him to pass, and slipped on the frozen cobblestones.

"Apologies…" the Russian reached out to the poorly-clad Frenchman. D'Eon looked up at his rescuer. It was Sergei Voronstov. He still had the eye patch but he had grown a moustache.

"De Beaumont?" Sergei recognized the half-frozen Frenchman. "Mother of God, you're as cold as a tomb… even if you are that eager to settle our duel… Misha! Sasha!" Sergei shouted. Two youths, both clad in the uniform of cavalrymen and one limping awkwardly, ran forward from a waiting sleigh. Sergei shouted orders in Russian and the pair hastened to obey.

Before D'Eon's cold-numbed mind could figure out what was happening, he was sitting bundled with heavy rugs around his shoulders and a linen-wrapped mug of scalding-hot tea in his hands.

"Whatever, Sir D'Eon, brings you to St Petersburg in the dead of winter? And how did your hand get well and without a scar? Poems?" Sergei's good right eye smiled. "Lawyers can be such a pain. Excuse the wolf… I was hunting with the Empress' party. Bad time for hunting really with the snow, but you don't say_ nyet_ to our Empress."

D'Eon realised that he was sitting next to the corpse of a very dead wolf. No doubt it was going to be skinned and cured for a fireside rug.

"About our duel…" D'Eon started. Sergei waved his words aside.

"_Nyet_, not today. You are unarmed. You are half-dead with the cold and judging from the condition of your clothes, you had fallen on hard times, which does not bode well for a certain young lady… So how did the uncle of the much-favoured mistress of King Louis XVI end up reduced to such a sorry state?" Natalia's dalliance in Versailles had reached Russia and the possibly the Empress' ears. "So which inn do we drop you off at?"

The sleigh drew more than its fair share of attention from the neighbours. It was a modest vehicle, designed for travel on ice-slicked roads and pulled by four fiery red horses which were smaller built than the horses D'Eon was used to back in France. The matching pair of footmen, possibly brothers with their identical dark eyes and hair, was handsome enough to win smiles from more than one young woman when they glanced her way. The large wolf beside D'Eon was a remarkable beast in its own right. He could tell Sergei had every intention of making a suitable trophy from his quarry.

"Uncle D'Eon! Where have you been?" Natalia was waiting at the door. Dusk had fallen and D'Eon's failure to return before dark worried her. Robbie was hobbling down the hall with the aid of a crudely-made crutch.

The cordial smile melted from the Russian's face when he saw Natalia's condition. The plain Russian peasant dress she wore did little to disguise her condition and she was huge even though the baby was not due yet for a good two months at least.

"Imbecile!" SLAP! D'Eon rubbed his cheek where Sergei had slung his heavy leather gloves at him. The Russian major was furious. His eyes were icy. The footmen hurried up with a small box and a longer one, holding a loaded pistol and a duelling rapier respectively. They anticipated their master's mood.

"This girl was a ward of the Empress and you let her be in such a state? I don't suppose it ever occurred to your thick skull to have her married off before the baby comes?" The lack of a wedding band on Natalia's finger had not gone unnoticed. "I should gut you here for this outrage. _Little mother_ was always fond of her little French charge. Couldn't stop talking about how her Grand Mademoiselle's reforms are progressing in France and how we should make some changes of our own… Nyet, I should give you the proper respect your station of knight demands. Duel. Tomorrow. Ten o'clock in the graveyard at St Vanya the Martyr's."

The footmen scurried back to the sleigh with the weapons.

"_Excusez moi,_ but Sir D'Eon does not have a sword…" Robbie butted in. "Besides, wouldn't it be better if Her Imperial Majesty is reunited with her much-beloved goddaughter first before you stuff her uncle in a pine box?"

**Author's Notes:**

Sergei Voronstov is back in the story. If it weren't for the debt of honour D'Eon owes Sergei about the duel to the death, they could possibly be good friends. I am a bit reluctant to have them duelling in a street.


	61. By Royal Appointment

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 61 – By Royal Appointment **

Instead of a duel, D'Eon was given an audience with the Empress of Russia the very next morning.

The palace hardly changed, apart from the opulent amber-decorated room they were ushered to. D'Eon recalled that the room was modestly decorated with craved amber tiles the last time he was in St Petersburg. In the interim, the Empress had lined the entire rooms from carpet to ceiling with honey-coloured amber so that it blazed with golden warmth. In fact, the place was so overwhelming in its splendour that D'Eon felt ill at ease in his shabby clothes, even though those were his best clothes.

The two footmen were left in the snowy courtyard to stable the horses. Sergei had declined to allow Natalia to accompany them in the open sleigh given her delicate condition. He had insisted on it to Natalia's chagrin. "Let us send a covered coach for you, with rugs and a warm brazier…" he said.

"I am not an invalid to be coddled," Natalia had retorted. The Russian was insistent and she finally relented, remaining behind with Robbie.

"Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress of all Russia…" the herald blared out in heavily-accented French.

"Please, Boris, enough with that… D'Eon is well-aware of my name… now leave us…" Empress Ekaterina glided into the room. The herald bowed and retreated. "Sergei Voronstov?" she raised a questioning brow at the sight of D'Eon's Russian companion. "Whatever is this nonsense I hear of some duel? I absolutely forbid it! We need men like you to lead our forces in Caucasus."

"Ah, the Ottomans down south are getting restive?"

"Restive? They impaled our envoy to Constantinople. You and your men have my blessings to do what you need to retain the motherland's dignity and honour!" Ekaterina thrust a letter at Sergei. The Russian knight took it and bowed extravagantly.

"I take my humble leave, your Imperial Highness…"

"Please kindly refrain from sending us pickled body parts. We trust you to keep a proper tally of the enemy dead without resorting to hacking off ears," Ekaterina smiled.

"Got it. Impale the generals and officers, massacre the common soldiers and pillage any village on the Ottoman side. It will amuse and motivate my Cossacks no end," Sergei shrugged with a sardonic smile.

"God go with you, you hopeless rascal!" Ekaterina laughed melodiously when the knight saluted her and strolled out. "A good man, Sergei. Loyalty itself," Ekaterina murmured wistfully before turning her attention to D'Eon.

"Sir D'Eon, it has been a while…"

* * *

An hour later, D'Eon emerged from the palace with a much heavier purse and the promise of a job as tutor to the young prince, Alexander, the only grandson of the Empress. _"Go to a tailor and have yourself a proper winter coat made,"_ the Empress commanded. _"We lost the last French tutor to pneumonia and we do not wish to lose you the same way." _

Sergei was kind enough to order his footmen to give the Frenchman a ride to the house he shared with his niece and servant before riding off to join his Cossacks at their barracks. Their duel had been postponed indefinitely while the Russian was sent to lead the Cossacks against the Turks troubling the Russian border, much to the French knight's relief. He had no desire to harm Sergei. The Russian had been an amiable acquaintance to them so far.

Ekaterina was apparently shocked by the revelation that young Natalia was expecting the love child of the French monarch but pragmatic about how they should address the issue. _"A nunnery will be out of the question for one like her. Too free-spirited for a cloister. We can't possibly force her into a loveless marriage. We are sure you will agree. Once the baby comes, we will deal with it then. A good family of quality perhaps… We will enjoy her company here in the Imperial court, once her health allows."_

D'Eon had also been introduced to his student, a shy, solemn-eyed boy of nine. Prince Alexander of Russia, the sole offspring of Ekaterina's only surviving son from her abusive marriage to Pytor. Alexander was bright for his age but painfully lonely in the palace where he was the only child of his age and esteemed status. Ekaterina pointedly chose not to speak of the Tsarevich, Paul of Russia. She need not. The Crown Prince's reputation preceded him. Robbie had repeated gossip from the embassy of the prince's cruelty to his servants and his animals.

Rumour had it Ekaterina hated her own son because he was the splitting image of his father and their quarrels were often violent. Paul loathed his mother and once shot all the swans in the palace gardens just to spite her. The Empress responded by having his favourite mistress whisked off to a convent on the Russian border. The arranged political marriage between the Russian prince and a German princess was a disaster from the start. The Empress often had to intervene to protect her daughter-in-law from her son's violent moods. Alexander came into the world two months earlier than expected when his mother was shoved down a flight of stairs, courtesy of his father. The infant was only discovered lying near his mother's cooling corpse the next morning by a footman.

The scandal rocked the entire Russian nobility and Ekaterina almost had her wayward son forced into a monastery. The boyars talked her out of it. The infant was too sickly then and they did not expect him to survive. Another marriage would have to be arranged for the prince. The next two royal brides did not fare better. The first conveniently died of bad fish, though poisoning by her husband was suspected by the court gossips. The other simply fled home across the border in the middle of the honeymoon to escape her husband's violence. After that, the Russian church refused to approve any more marriages where their prince was concerned. Young Alexander had survived his infancy and was a thriving lad by then. All this while, Prince Paul indulged in drink, mistresses and cards, paying his son scant attention.

"A mean person with a sociopathic streak. That is what their Crown Prince is. Lucky thing they didn't force the Empress to hand over the crown to him when he came of age. Once hit his own mother with a riding crop at the embassy ball, after she walked in on him raping some young serving girl," Robbie said quietly. "That was after he shot the girl's brother for trying to defend his sis... Be careful, Sir D'Eon. The Empress likes you and that is reason enough for the prince to take a musket to you." He shifted his injured leg uneasily.

"Be careful, uncle…" Natalia added as she caressed the baby clothes she had been knitting for the little one growing within her. "You were lucky Sir Sergei got sent off to the border, but the prince… I would like to tutor His Highness Alexander… Poor child has no mother to care for him and his grandma is too busy running the empire. Perhaps Robbie can help…"

* * *

D'Eon dreamed of his late sister that night. They were young students fencing under Teillagory's watchful eye. Anna hovered nearby, watching her older playmates while holding a tea party for her dolls. The sun was bright and the birds singing. D'Eon's father and mother, alive and well, were strolling up the path to D'Eon's childhood home… He cried when he awoke to the freezing chill of his shabby room with Robbie snoring beside him with his leg carefully swaddled. Perhaps he would teach his soon-to-be-born grandnephew or grandniece to fence. Perhaps, with the Empress' blessings, he would teach young Alexander to fence, ride horses, read and write French and Latin…

_Tutoring a royal prince can be difficult, as you have learnt in London…_ Lia was sitting on the stool by the fireplace, a hazy image which made D'Eon question if he were still dreaming. Lia was right. Young King George IV was a stubborn student, but his younger siblings were more amiable.

_Queen Mary was present to ensure that her son didn't misbehave too much… but Ekaterina is too caught up with the empire's troubles to…_

"With all due respect, Lia, Prince Alexander strikes me as a well-behaved youngster…" D'Eon sat up in his bed.

_It's the boy's father and his violent moods I am afraid of. _Lia shook her head with a smile. _Do be careful, D'Eon. _D'Eon must have dozed off again. For when he next opened his eyes, it was dawn.

* * *

The dream was strangely prophetic. D'Eon took on his teaching duties at the palace readily, like a fish to water. He had often been teased by his fellows in the dragoons for his scholarly interests. Philosophy did not feature highly in his conversations with most of his fellow knights. Teillagory often thought D'Eon wasted his time with books when he should be practising with his sword. _"You are not going into the clergy, D'Eon…"_ he used to chide whenever he caught young D'Eon reading some complex tract on theology or some obscure subject the older knight was unfamiliar with. Lia tolerated his scholarly pursuits with resignation. Durand was educated in letters as befitted a French knight. However, D'Eon had to admit that his comrade was not a philosopher. D'Eon sojourn in London was an eye-opener for him. Under Sir William's leadership, the Liberty Lodge was a centre for intellectual discussions running the full gauntlet from science to philosophy and literature.

Young Prince Alexander was hungry for knowledge. He devoured entire tomes on language, geography, history and mathematics every week. He often asked his tutor questions far beyond his years which often led to discussions in astronomy and politics. D'Eon often spent hours at the palace with his student. The palace's library and study were well-stocked with a vast array of books on various subjects and in various languages. D'Eon had little difficulty reading the French, Latin and English books, but the Russian tomes were gibberish to him. He had never learned how to read Cyrillic letters.

"Perhaps I could teach you, sir…" his young student teased. There was a Russian who came once a week to teach the young prince his letters in Russian, until an unfortunate incident when said tutor got on the wrong side of Tsarevich Paul. "That person had Mister Ivan tied to a cannonball and thrown into that pool," Alexander said with apparent indifference as he pointed out the window. "Said loads of mean things about Grandmamma and Mister Ivan. Mister Ivan was a good friend of my Grandmamma. He taught her Russian, just like he taught me. I like you, Sir D'Eon… please try not to get that person angry…"

The boy's schoolroom was dominated by a map of the Russian empire spread out on the wooden floor. Alexander spent his free time playing with his toy soldiers, fighting imaginary battles against the motherland's foes. The current battle was in the south against the Turkish army. _"If Sir Sergei can cut them off here at the pass, the Turks will starve until springtime…" _The prince read extensively on battlefield strategies and listened eagerly at the Empress' elbow for any news from the battlefield in the south.

The tsarevich's malevolent shadow was not absent from his son's life, even within the protected confines of the palace. Winter slowly eased towards spring. D'Eon found that out one morning when their French lesson was rudely interrupted by the drunken tsarevich barging into the schoolyard brandishing a shotgun.

"Alex-boy… Let's go hunting… Sh-shoot that bitch's dogs…"

D'Eon ducked just in time as a shotgun blast shattered the window behind him. He could have sworn the man was aiming at his chest.

"No, father. I do not think Grandmamma would like her dogs killed. I am not going out with you today as I have lessons to finish," Alexander folded his arms across his chest and sat resolutely at his desk. _Big mistake._ Enraged, the tsarevich smashed the butt of his shotgun into the boy's belly.

D'Eon leapt into action, trying to wrest the firearm from the tsarevich while his student groaned on the floor, grasping his middle. "Unhand me, you serf!" Paul spat. A lucky kick sent D'Eon's knees buckling under him. Then he was staring at the barrel of a shotgun. The crown prince's eyes were feral, like a wild animal's. He deliberately shoved the barrel forward so that it was pressed against D'Eon's forehead.

"Drop that at once, you wretched dog! How dare you bring a weapon into the palace schoolroom!" the Empress came running in at that moment. She was accompanied by a troop of her household guards. The tsarevich hiccupped and dropped the weapon harmlessly to the floor.

"Dearest mother, I was just saying good morning to little Alex…" Paul smiled. "And the French dog you got him as a tutor. So is he an adequate replacement for that old coot in your bed, mother?"

Fuming, Ekaterina slapped her son hard. Paul laughed manically as he rubbed his cheek. "Behold, the Empress of Russia. You aren't even Russian, you bitch… what say you, men? Shouldn't a Russian be tsar instead of some usurper who killed the last rightful tsar?"

The household guard muttered under their breaths at Paul's words. D'Eon knew he had struck a chord with them and possibly the Russian nobility. Women were not taken seriously in Russia, even if they were Empress. "I have always done what was best for Mother Russia," Ekaterina said quietly. "My conscience is clear and blameless. You dare fire a shotgun near Prince Alexander and strike him without cause. Do not threaten me or the future heir, Paul, lest I feel tempted to send you away to a monastery. Show him out of the gates!"

At her command, two burly guardsmen seized the tsarevich by the arms. Murmuring apologetically, they dragged him from the schoolroom as he screamed curses at the Empress. The Empress ordered a doctor to be sent for. A valet gently helped the fallen prince to his feet. Ekaterina paused a moment to run her fingers through her grandson's tousled hair before a messenger announced the arrival of the Danish ambassador. Without a word to D'Eon or his student, the Empress and her entourage hurried off.

The valet offered tutor and student hot tea for the shock while they waited for the doctor. Alexander was subdued and did not shed any tears. After the doctor had pronounced them both fit apart from bad bruises, the young prince insisted that he continued with his lessons instead of resting in bed as D'Eon suggested. "I refuse to be cowed by that person, Sir D'Eon. Grandmamma is training me to be the next tsarevich. One day I will be running the empire like she does. I am not taking to my bed because some lunatic threatened me with a shotgun." When Alexander said those words, there was a flash of steely determination in his blue eyes.

**Author's Notes: **

Sergei has been sent off on a military campaign against the Turks. No duel for now and D'Eon has landed a job as royal tutor.

The relationship between Ekaterina and her son is strained to say the least. Empress Ekaterina of Russia and her son never got along according to historical accounts. She disliked him and was said to have considered bypassing him in the succession by naming her eldest grandson as heir.


	62. Birthing

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 62 – Birthing **

Milien looked up from his books to see his mentor warming his feet by the fire. It was a dreary winter in Paris, but Master Robespierre had been released from prison earlier than expected, thanks to the Duke of Orleans' letters. They had made a hurried and dangerous journey to Marseilles where the duke and duchess were residing till spring. Robespierre's time in prison had not gone to waste. They now counted several guardsmen in the fortress as theirs. "The problem is, Mil, many of the soldiers are mercenaries, brought in from the Germanic states and the Alps. Those guards who are French-born and bred question their worth in the eyes of the king," Robespierre explained.

Still, prison had taken a toll on him. His red hair was now shot with grey streaks. He limped more often, though he was careful to hide his weakness. "The queen is due anytime. They hope it will be a prince to carry on the line…" Lorenza tried to start a conversation. Cagliostro and Lorenza hovered on the edges of Versailles in their guise as alchemist count and his lady wife. Many of the lords were interested in the obscure arts of turning eggs into silver or something.

"Come, come… allow me to demonstrate what so astounded the cardinal of Rouens…" Cagliostro butted in with a blackened egg. "Immerse it in a bowl of water and it turns silver. Francois was performing that trick in a farmhouse ten years ago…" Milien waved him away dismissively. He wished that the pair would leave. They were there hoping to get some money from his master under the pretence of keeping up their appearances.

"Perhaps Count Cagliostro should return to Venice or something," Robespierre suggested. "There is nothing happening in Versailles, apart from all the fuss about the impending birth…" The hue and cry of the escape had been forgotten in the dizzy preparations for a royal birth.

"It would be proper for us to present them with a token or something…" Lorenza said.

Milien opened the box on the side table where he normally kept his precious book. To the amazement of his companions, it was empty apart from the ruby necklace belonging to his sister.

"Mil! Where's the book? We need it!" Robespierre exclaimed. They needed the psalms.

"We don't. It is in safe hands as we speak," Milien smiled as he toyed with his sister's rubies. Robespierre then realised that since his release, he had not seen Milien with that book. "The psalms can only do so much. Sir, you have the power to rouse the people to bring about change, without the need for it…" Milien held up the string of rubies. They glinted in the firelight, then dissolved into drops of blood. "Lia always warned it will be a bloody business when it comes to that."

Cagliostro felt sick at the sight of precious gems being so casually destroyed. Lorenza gasped in alarm at the idea of facing the other poets like Sir William and Jean Paul without the Psalms of the Revolution to back her poems up. Robespierre shuddered at the youth's words. More bloodshed. When will it ever be enough? Only Milien remained calm and unruffled as the last red drop dripped from his fingers and into the carpeting.

* * *

In distant Russia, Natalia shifted her weight uneasily. She had become aware of that little life nestled within her womb, announcing its presence with kicks. Robbie returned to the embassy as soon as his leg mended. Uncle D'Eon spent long hours at the Winter Palace with his student. The Empress had sent her warm clothes, firewood and provisions so that she need not worry. She settled into a routine of keeping house, preparing breakfast and supper for the men. In the day, she would work on the mending.

That day was no different. After a mid-day meal of thin broth and rye bread, she settled by the fire to work on a second shirt. It was then that she was seized with an unexplainable urge to open the book which lay under her pillow, hidden from her companions' eyes. She found it easily enough and opened the book. The words on the page glowed.

_King Louis XVI will be blessed with… _She frowned as the words swam. _Was it a prince or princess? Or perhaps both?_ So intent was she on deciphering the words that she did not see the tabby cat which had flopped down in the narrow and dimly-lit hallway until it was too late.

She fell heavily and knew at once that something was wrong, very wrong. The terrified cat yowled and ran for the kitchen. Natalia tried to rise but the pain made it impossible. She was bleeding. Outside, the snow fell lightly, muffling her groans of agony. It would be hours before Robbie returned from his work and found her.

* * *

D'Eon returned to his lodging to the most alarming screams emitting from Natalia's room. Robbie sat in the kitchen, solemn as the midwife tried her utmost to aid Natalia. A kindly Russian grandmother from the next house had brought over some potato and meat stew for the men.

"Difficult… too soon… her first child?" the grandmother tried to translate the words of the flustered midwife. Her face was grim. "The girl, her hips are too small. Baby too big… She ask them to save baby. Is her husband…" she glanced at Robbie.

"Dead," Robbie lied. "Ah," the grandmother nodded her head. It was a common enough tale.

The screams continued well into the night and into the next day when Natalia's voice finally gave out and she was reduced to weak whimpers. The midwife refused entry to the birthing room to the men, leaving D'Eon and Robbie pacing in the kitchen and hallway. It was during this pacing that D'Eon spotted the battered book lying on the floorboards. No one had bothered to clean up the blood there, which had dried to a dull brown crust. D'Eon picked up the book without thinking. There was a familiar jolt running through his arm, a bolt of static electricity.

For a while, he sat with the book in his hands. Robbie was sent for the doctor when the midwife failed to bring an end to the labour. He had to do something. A second dusk was falling and his poor niece was still struggling in childbed. Slipping the book into his vest, he walked over to Natalia's room…

* * *

Milien was disturbed. Robespierre could tell that. The young man fidgeted needlessly as if he were seating on hot coals. He had come down for breakfast sporting dark circles around his eyes from a bad night's sleep. "Go home and rest, Mil…" Robespierre coaxed. They could manage the evening's meeting without him. Milien shook his head. Instead, he leapt to his feet when Francois entered the room.

"Francois! Is there any way to bring a baby too large for its mother into the world?"

"Mil, don't tell me you've put Charlotte in the family way… calm yourself…." Francois held up his hands in surrender when Milien aimed a pistol at him. The print-house's master Camille and his staff immediately stood up in alarm. Robespierre grabbed his ward's wrist gently and lowered the pistol. It was not loaded but Francois could not see that. "Enough, Mil."

"Well, midwifery is outside my circle, but I hear that they could cut open the mother, take the baby out and sew her back…" Francois replied. "Oui, I hear that farmers do that sometimes for their cows and ewes…" Camille added.

"But it is risky stuff. I mean, if it has been going on for too long, both mother and child may be lost."

Apparently satisfied with the answer from the medical student, Milien hopped back onto his seat and threw his attentions back to the letter he was working on.

* * *

"They call it a Caesarean… we cut open the belly…" the doctor explained. The kindly neighbour had returned to own home to tend to her son, freshly back from the barracks. The exhausted midwife could only croon prayers as she held Natalia's hand. The bedclothes were soaked in blood, sweat and other stuff which D'Eon did not want to think about. He followed close behind the doctor and his assistant.

For a moment, he feared he was too late. Natalia lay there like a waxen doll, all colour was gone from her face. Tenderly, he stroked her hair. Her eyes opened. "Uncle D'Eon?"

"Hush…" he kissed her on the brow. "The doctor will do a little operation… Soon you will be holding your baby… Be strong…"

The doctor readied his scalpel to slice into Natalia's swollen belly. D'Eon hurriedly looked away. The midwife fastidiously raised the blanket up so that it blocked the expectant mother's view. Robbie, thank god, had volunteered to hold the lamp so that the doctor might operate in spite of the fading light. D'Eon was not sure he could perform the same task without shaking.

"My baby is dead! I felt him die…" Natalia sobbed hysterically and started to thrash about in pain or despair or both. "Hold her down!" the doctor barked in alarm. More blood spurted under the blanket.

_Please, Lia…Hang on._ D'Eon fancied he heard Milien's voice. The candlelight flickered as Robbie was forced to relinquish his lamp and assist in restraining Natalia's flailing legs. D'Eon looked up and saw a ghostly outline of his nephew, restraining Natalia's arms even as D'Eon held her shoulders against the bed. Finally, Natalia gave a shudder and passed out.

The baby was stillborn. It was a perfectly-formed baby boy with a pale thatch of hair. "Send for a priest…" Robbie was driven out again into the snowy night. Natalia was losing too much blood. The midwife shook her head and pressed a small crucifix into the distraught mother's hand. Natalia closed her eyes.

"The mademoiselle is fading. Lost too much blood…" the doctor scrubbed his hands in a washbasin. "I am sorry…" D'Eon flopped down into a nearby chair and stared at the floor. He felt so helpless. The book was an uncomfortable weight against his chest. _Why had he been able to pick it up again?_

_D'Eon. Get the baby. She needs to see the baby._

"Lia?" D'Eon raised his head. The ghostly figure of Lia hovered beside him, pointing at the pathetic bundle in a washbasin set in the corner of the room. The midwife had whisked the infant's body and the afterbirth from the mother's presence as soon as it was clear there was no hope for the baby. Ignored by the others, D'Eon hurried over immediately and scooped the still bloody infant into his arms. It was cool to the touch. He scooped the cool water over it, washing the tiny body before wrapping it up in a towel.

The priest was praying over Natalia now. Robbie was chafing Natalia's hands, trying to keep her from sinking further into unconsciousness. Only D'Eon could see his sister's ghost hovering at the bedside.

"Excuse me, Father…" D'Eon apologized to the annoyed churchman and hurried forward, interrupting the rites. "Natalia, please… open your eyes. I have brought you your baby… It's a boy…"

The exhausted mother opened her eyes. "He is beautiful…" Natalia reached for the infant. "May I hold him for a while, please?"

Over the next hour, the colour returned to Natalia's cheeks. She seemed to be recovering. Though still weak, she managed to ask the priest to pray for her dead child. "The little one is with the angels now…" Robbie said soberly. D'Eon looked up. His sister was gone. The doctor was beckoning to him from the hallway. He excused himself.

"Monsieur de Beaumont… I have to inform you. She must be carefully nursed and watched over the next few days, in case of childbirth fever. Give her nourishing food in the form of light broths and beef tea. She has lost much blood. And…" the doctor paused. "It is unlikely that she will ever bear any children in the future. I'm sorry…"

"I see," D'Eon glanced over to where his niece was lying against the pillows. They would have to break it to her gently. Arrangements were made with priest for the burial of the stillborn infant. Natalia finally allowed them to take her child from her after cradling it for over good two hours as she slowly recovered from the ordeal of childbirth and the operation. After the priest, doctor and midwife had gone, he stayed by her bedside, taking turns to watch her with Robbie. When no one was watching, D'Eon placed the Book of Psalms safely in the chest of drawers in his bedroom. They did not need it now.

* * *

"Sir D'Eon!" Robbie entered the bedroom in the following morning, rousing D'Eon.

"We have a visitor, a lady visitor…" D'Eon rubbed sleep from his eyes and hurried to the parlour.

"Your Majesty!" D'Eon started when he saw who the visitor standing in the parlour was. Instinctively, he bent his knee and would have knelt if the Empress had not stopped him.

"Please, D'Eon. Dispense with protocol… We are visiting as a friend, not as an empress. You did not go the palace yesterday, Alex asked after you."

"I beg your forgiveness…"

"We will forgive your absence yesterday, as will Alex. We understand it was for good reason. Tell me, how mother and child fare?" the empress asked.

Sombrely, D'Eon informed her of the grim news. Weeks passed with the best physicians of the city attending to Natalia as she fought with a fierce recurring fever from the birth. The Empress was forced to sojourn in Moscow with her young grandson due to diplomatic duties. D'Eon was warned to avoid the Winter Palace while Prince Paul threw wild parties there in the absence of his mother's restrain. He had returned to the city from his exile in the country lodge in flagrant disregard of his mother's imperial orders.

* * *

In faraway Versailles, the young queen felt the first pangs of impending birth as the snows melted. King Louis XVI immediately sent for the best doctors and physicians. It was expected to be long and difficult labour. In a Parisian print-house, Milien started on a broadsheet questioning the paternity of queen's unborn child and was immediately chided by Camille.

"The girl will have red hair, just like Etienne…" Milien added cheekily. The poor redhead was attended to by servants and nurses sent by the queen after his misadventure, until the Rocheforts took to a country estate to avoid the unwanted attention and gossip in the city. Etienne had long recovered but was reluctant to take on his duties as captain after his embarrassing experience. However, Sir Michel would force him to resume his duties once spring came. It was a hard-won honour to be a guard at Versailles and even more an honour that Etienne retained his post despite all that happened.

"Do you really believe Etienne was carrying on with the Austrian woman? And why would it be a girl?" Camille swatted the blond with a sheaf of papers. Milien only chuckled and started on a new sheet questioning the latest taxes introduced in favour of the landlords. His sister's health was improving. That was all that mattered to him for now.

**Author's Notes:**

A disastrous end to Natalia's pregnancy, but King Louis XVI or Auguste will get a child by his queen. Milien is definitely feeling a little prickly.


	63. Russian Interlude

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 63 – Russian Interlude**

For a while, D'Eon was fearful he might lose his niece. However, Natalia was young and strong. She soon recovered physically. Then D'Eon dreaded the dark months of tears that so characterized his mother each time she lost a child. During those times, the de Beaumont children would be sent away so that their mother could recover from her grief. Natalia only asked to be shown where her child was buried. After placing a small bouquet on the tiny grave, she asked her uncle if they would allow her to be a lady-in-waiting to the Empress. D'Eon reluctantly agreed. The Empress was glad that Natalia had recovered and the arrangements were made. By the time spring was slipping into summer, Natalia was fully accepted into the palace as one of the Empress' select female attendants. D'Eon was sure Lia would have been proud to witness the Empress granting Natalia the seed-pearl studded headdress the ladies of the Empress' bedchamber wore.

They moved into a fine house in spring, located in a neighbourhood known for its respectability, attended to by household serfs assigned to them by the Empress herself. D'Eon had to tell Robbie off when he walked in on the young man and their parlour maid compromising position. "You are such a prude," Robbie complained blithely. The brunette continued with his work for the English embassy, whatever it might be. D'Eon decided it would be better not to pry. It was certain that at least some of Robbie's work involved spying on behalf of English interests.

For his part, D'Eon continued with his duties tutoring young Alexander. It was after one such session when he recalled he had left his bible in the study. The prince had rushed off after the French lesson to start his riding lessons under the palace stable master. The boy was an avid horseman. "I will need to ride to lead my men into battle," the boy said seriously. "What would they think if the Tsar of Russia rides like a sack of potatoes?"

He pushed open the study door and gasped in shock at what he found. "Sir D'Eon!" the Empress hurriedly pulled her arms away from the shoulders of the handsome young nobleman she was with. The pair was clearly embarrassed that the tutor had walked in on their amorous embrace. D'Eon went red in the face, then white, muttering hasty apologies in French and broken Russian, he beat a hasty retreat as soon as he grabbed his bible from the desk near the door where he had left it.

He was walking briskly down the corridor when he encountered Natalia.

"Good morning, uncle. You look like you have seen a ghost. Have you seen Her Majesty and Count Krillioff?"

"I-I believe they are in the, uh, s-study… p-perhaps they wish not to be d-disturbed…" D'Eon could not help stuttering.

"I see," Natalia shrugged her shoulders prettily. The sunlight danced off the pearls in her headdress. She had worn her blond hair in a pair of braids that hung down to her waist. Judicious use of the corset meant that she had regained the figure she boasted before the birth. "I do wish she would be more selective of her lovers…" Among the nobility, rumours were rife about the Empress' relations with certain young men. Most were highly exaggerated but there was a kernel of truth in them.

"I trust you will keep your peace on anything you may have seen there, Uncle D'Eon… and don't be so hasty to judge Her Majesty…" she took her uncle by the hand and led him out of the palace.

"Count Krillioff? Isn't there a rumour about him being in debt from gambling?" D'Eon frowned. Robbie had mocked the excesses of a good many of the city's noble and rich by pointing out their flaws to his companions after a long day's work at the embassy. Krillioff supposedly had gambled off his inheritance and had to beg his sister for a loan. The sister only agreed if he would plough one of her fields_. "The catch was that he had to do it without the use of an animal… so he yoked his poor valet to the plough," Robbie laughed. "Would have worked if his sister had not argued that the valet was a serf and considered a household beast. So our count took up with some old lady."_ D'Eon had not expected that Robbie's 'old lady' was the Empress.

"Yes, but the Empress will settle his debts, until she realises he doesn't really love her… Ekaterina is unlucky in the matters of love. Her Majesty suffered a most unhappy marriage. I hear from the other ladies this is not the first time she has fallen for someone she should not… Still, she has enough sense to know that if she re-marries, the nobles will demand that she hand power over to her son, Paul, and the empire will suffer for that."

"Isn't there anything we could do?"

"We can only wait for her to come to her senses and lend her a comforting ear when the time comes," Natalia smiled. She reminded D'Eon a bit of his sister. "'Tis a pity Sergei Voronstov isn't here…"

"Why?"

"It is a belief among the ladies that he holds a torch for the Empress in his heart and will not tolerate anyone toying with her affections for their own gain. He's a notorious duellist and it can't be a coincidence that he shot two of her lovers after they turned out to be false. Lopped the hands off the third and had to go into exile for a while a few years back."

"Is he…"

"No, he dared not confess his feelings, if any, beyond those of loyalty and obedience. There is a Lady Voronstov, his poor demented wife, residing in a convent ever since the loss of her child, The Russian Church will not grant annulment or divorce in such cases. Perhaps in a way, the major feels responsible for his wife's illness. Uncle D'Eon, could you please tell Robbie to curtail his work with the English or return to London? His activities are drawing too much attention to him."

Robbie reluctantly agreed to cut back on his spying work but D'Eon suspected the young man continued behind their backs. Robbie had picked up Russian and was now fluent enough to banter with the servants. D'Eon wondered what they made of the Englishman in clerk's clothes who could swear like a sailor and bow like a knight when the occasion arose. For a while, the book of Psalms lay forgotten in the chest of drawers in D'Eon's bedchamber.

* * *

In Paris, the celebrations of the royal birth had died down and were speedily replaced by vile rumours concerning the parentage of the new princess. The baby had a thatch of pale hair which darkened to a dark mahogany brown within the first months of her life. Greatly distressed by the whispers which permeated even the hallowed halls of Versailles, the queen retreated to the solitude of her Petit Trianon for a time. The infant was left in the care of nurses.

"It's a pity it's a girl. Perhaps the next would be a prince…" the father shook his head. Auguste seemed to recall that his own mother had hair of that shade, but he was so young when she passed away that he could not be sure. Fair hair was a sign of beauty in those days. _Who would want to wed a dark-haired princess? _Auguste decided that it was premature to think about his daughter's marriage. He was certain the baby was his. Despite her extravagances and indulgences, his queen would never make a cuckold of him. Marie Antoinette simply lacked that boldness even though she pined endlessly after various young men that populated Versailles and enjoyed their fawning attentions.

Master Robespierre and Milien were reluctantly recruited into the household of the Duke of Orleans at his personal behest. "You are the best lawyer and clerk I've had in my household," the duke said as he reassured them that he would overlook Robespierre's brush with the law. Camille's print house churned out ever more broadsheets questioning the new taxes and demanding liberties for the downtrodden poor. It was an advantage to have a backer in high places to rescue the young man should he run into more trouble with the authorities. Milien wasted no time in convincing the duke to sponsor the print house in part.

Etienne returned somewhat reluctantly to his post at Versailles. The queen's mood improved vastly when he returned to his guard duties at Petit Trianon. Soon she was back to throwing extravagant tea parties and amateur theatre nights for her inner circle of cronies. Sir William handed over his translation of _Hamlet_, only to have the queen declare it too sad. _Could you please give us a comedy? _The Englishman only raised an eyebrow and returned the next day with _The Taming of the Shrew_.

Francois and his wife Annamarie quietly resigned themselves to the likelihood that they would probably never have offspring after Annemarie suffered yet another miscarriage. Instead, they opened their house to the children of the neighbouring streets. The children were fascinated by the death masks, dried cadaver parts and pickled organs the Tussads unconsciously decorated their rooms with during the course of their work.

Back in Versailles, Auguste would occasionally wonder about his love, Natalia, and her runaway uncle. However, such thoughts were soon far from his mind, replaced by the demands of the country and the nobility. So the months passed… Summer eased into autumn and autumn faded into winter.

* * *

The Russian campaign in Crimea ended in late autumn and Sergei was back in St Petersburg by the time the few snows came.

"Misha, Sasha!" he bellowed out as soon as he stepped from his coach. The two young men immediately snapped to attention as soon as they had shaken the snow from their hats and cloaks. They had ridden in the open sleigh while their master travelled in the comfort of a closed and heated coach.

At ease!" Sergei laughed. He liked his twin nephews, even though one was lame and other mute. He had equipped them with all the skills necessary for life in the military, the Cossacks, in particular, from which lineage they hailed from. The boys' maternal grandfather was a Cossack chieftain after all. For a while, the mentor regarded his students in silence.

It was Sasha who spoke first. "Uncle, do you wish to extend an invitation to duel to Sir D'Eon de Beaumont, sir?"

"Yes, naturally… but I will deliver it myself," Sergei grinned wolfishly. It was a debt of honour, a blood debt which cried out to be paid. His uncle Voronstov was slain by that Frenchman, The fondness he felt for the man notwithstanding, honour demanded that he avenge his uncle's demise. Duelling was a messy business. He had lost an eye himself to prove it. He would make it quick and as painless as possible for the Frenchman.

_Pistol or sabre?_ Misha signed with his white gloved hands. "Sabre…" Sergei breathed and watched as his breath hung in the air for a heartbeat. The chosen weapon of the Cossack cavalryman was capable of hacking off limbs and heads. It was designed for slashing rather than stabbing.

D'Eon was teaching Alexander the history of the War of Succession when he realised his student was looking distractedly out the window. It was unlike the prince, so the tutor stopped and closed his book. "What's wrong, Your Highness?" he asked.

"The Voronstovs of the Cossack corps. They are waiting in the garden below. Sergei Voronstov and his nephews, the mute one and the lame one," Alexander smiled. "Could we end earlier today? We would like to ride with them. I hear the Cossacks are skilled horsemen. I hope Lady Natalia could cancel my piano lessons later. We should be out for a bit. Grandmamma would understand."

D'Eon stuck his head out the window and was immediately struck in the face with a dirty snowball of dirt, mulch and snow. D'Eon saw that Sergei and the two lads he had taken for his footmen were standing in the snow. They were wearing their Cossack uniforms with the dark cloaks, boots and fur hat. One of the lads was leaning on a crude walking stick.

"Duel, the churchyard of St Vanya the Martyr, tomorrow at dawn!" Sergei shouted out to the Frenchman. He had gone to their old address to learn that the household had moved. Unable to locate their new address, he had spent a grumpy night in a tavern drinking before he overheard Count Killioff the roach ranting about how some damned Frenchman was teaching the prince Alexander and doing a good job at it so that the Empress only laughed when Killioff offered to be the prince's tutor. The count had as much scholarly leanings as a rat. It was almost a pity the Empress would need to find another tutor soon.

"Get your matters in order, Sir D'Eon!" Sasha added. "Me and my brother, we have a new grave waiting for you…" Sergei swatted him lightly across the back of the head, bringing an end to his speech. _Enough talk._

"Grandmamma ordered a stop to this duel!" Alexander shouted from the window.

"We'd hear from Her Majesty if this were so!" Sasha replied. He was cuffed by his uncle yet again. The commotion was attracting the attention of a passing gardener, a monk and some maids. The Cossacks turned as one and trooped silently off into the falling snow. The lame Sasha lagged slightly as his stick kept poking through the snow.

"I would advise you against running, Misha and Sasha have a bit of a reputation for tracking and throwing knives," Alexander said quietly to his tutor. "We wish we could be as skilled as them one day…"

**Author's Notes:**

The duel is on. Unless the Empress puts a stop to this nonsense.

Like the historical Empress Elizaveta, the Empress Ekaterina was said to have many lovers during her reign.


	64. The Duel

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 64 – The Duel**

_How does a man go about putting his matters in order?_ D'Eon wondered if he should find a lawyer and draft a will. Everything he owned would be left to his niece. _Should he entrust his niece to Robbie, a possible English spy? _The status of a woman in Russia was still lowly despite the efforts of the Empresses Elizaveta and Ekaterina. _Would Natalia become a ward of the Russian crown? _Robbie had tried to find some excuse to slip into the palace on occasion but both D'Eon and Natalia were in agreement that Robbie's activities on behalf of the English would not endear him to the guards. A hoary-haired guardsman once tossed the Englishman out by the collar after he called at the servants' entrance trying to court some scullery maid. The Empress might not like the idea of Robbie hanging about her favourite lady-in-waiting.

"They say Major Sergei intends to use his sabre tomorrow… I hear from Lady Natalia that you are a gifted swordsman. Perhaps you may stand a chance," his student tried to cheer him up. "If you live, could you teach me fencing too?" the prince combed his fingers through his light brown hair.

"Not without Her Majesty's permission…" D'Eon replied. Empress Ekaterina was protective of her grandson, with good reason. The future of the empire rested on Prince Alexander's young shoulders. It took him forever to persuade her to allow him to ride horses. It would probably take some time for him to convince her to let him learn a sport that involves a sharp and potentially lethal object. The prince had recently taken an interest in a tome detailing the workings of cannons and pistols and D'Eon was worried when he might be tempted to try his hand in the royal armoury at firing a firearm.

In the end, D'Eon managed to find a willing courtier to assist him in the drafting of a will and two guardsmen to be his witnesses. He would leave a fair sum to Robbie for his friendship and aid over the years. Prince Alexander offered his tutor the use of any sword from the palace armoury he might need. D'Eon found a good sword that didn't look too expensive but was well-kept and sharp. "That's my great-great-grandfather's sword, the sword of Tsar Peter the Great," Alexander grinned. "At least it has served him well in battle…" D'Eon immediately replaced the sword and looked for a less historically-important weapon. He was not going to spoil a possible imperial relic. The prince finally ordered the palace guard captain to provide D'Eon with a suitable blade.

The news had spread throughout the palace. The Cossack major Sergei Voronstov had challenged the French tutor to a duel. It was fortunate that the Empress and her ladies were away hunting, including Natalia. D'Eon really did not know how he would explain this to his niece. "Lia, what shall I do?" D'Eon whispered to himself. Honour demanded that the Sergei's challenge be answered.

* * *

The shadows lengthened as the hours passed. D'Eon dared not leave for home, lest he ran into Robbie. He was surprised after a light dinner, to see the Empress' carriage trundling in through the gates. The mood of the Empress' entourage was oddly subdued. The court ladies were quiet and sombre. The Empress was white-faced and red-eyed. More tellingly, Natalia was by her side, attending to the monarch. Count Krillioff was missing from the party. That was odd.

D'Eon hurried closer. There were dark stains on Empress' pale skirts and a good deal of mud. Natalia's eyes met his. _Don't ask now,_ she mouthed the words. D'Eon hung back a respectable distance. Prince Alexander was playing the piano under the instruction of the music master Natalia had recommended. The young prince loathed music lessons and only took them because he promised his grandmother and Natalia he would. The prince was showing a flair for music, especially marches. The melody drifting from the conservatory was jarringly light-hearted.

* * *

"Krillioff?" he asked her when their paths crossed an hour later in the corridor outside the Empress' chambers. D'Eon had just had bid a farewell to his student. Prince Alexander had lowered his guard enough to give his tutor a hug. In the tsarevich's quarters, the crown prince was cold-heartedly placing bets with his cronies on the outcome of the duel. His mother's apparent distress did little to disturb him.

"Dead. There was an accident with his gun. It exploded in his hands. They say he died in her arms before the doctor arrived. I was in the lodge preparing tea when it happened," Natalia explained. She tried to hide the empty wine bottle behind her skirts. "Has Her Majesty been drinking?" D'Eon asked. He had seen a footman bring several wine bottles up earlier but assumed they were for the crown prince's party. There were some gaudily-painted ladies of dubious repute ferried to the palace. Most of the respectable court ladies had made themselves scarce. Only Natalia and two dowager maids remained in attendance on the Empress.

"Get out!" a scream rang out and two flustered dowagers fled from the Empress' bedchamber. An airborne bottle followed closely.

"Natalia, please…" one dowager pleaded before a flying jewel-box hit her on the head. "Oh dear," Natalia pressed her handkerchief to the poor woman's brow to stop the bleeding. It was a deep gash. The other dowager hurried off to fetch a doctor. D'Eon scooped up the contents of the spilled jewel-box. The empress had never acted in such a manner to her servants. He quietly pushed the bedchamber door open with the intent of placing the jewels on a nearby table.

The Empress was sprawled over the dresser, sobbing as a wine bottle spilled its contents over the carpet at her feet. She still wore the same dress she had returned to the palace in. "Krillioff, darling?" she raised her head. D'Eon realised belatedly that the two maidservants were in the midst of readying the Empress for a bath when the tantrum occurred. Her dress had been unlaced to reveal her breasts. She got to her feet shakily. "Sir D'Eon? Whatever are you d-doing here?" she enquired in French before lapsing into her native German tongue.

D'Eon hastily placed the jewel-box on the nearest flat surface, a chest of drawers and made for the door, bowing to the Empress as he did so. "W-wait…" she cried out and staggered. A careless step caused her to trip on her trailing skirts. With a loud splash she landed in the nearby bath. Biting back a curse, D'Eon hurried to help her out.

Natalia poked her head in at the commotion. "Uncle D'Eon? Oh…" Both Ekaterina and D'Eon were soaking wet now and needed a change of clothes. The palace was a draughty place in winter. The Empress' quarters were kept warm by roaring fires in the fireplaces but the corridors were bitterly cold. D'Eon could easily catch his death of cold out there in his wet clothes. And the Empress must change her stained and wet garments. She could not possibly do that in a mere tutor's presence.

"Stay here, Uncle… I'll fetch some clothes from someone your build, maybe the butler…" Natalia said as she helped the Empress into a chair by the fire. With a whirl of her heels, she was off.

D'Eon stood awkwardly as he dripped onto the carpet. The Empress' hair had come undone and hung limply over her exposed shoulders. Her hair sported grey streaks and she seemed wan as she sobbed away. The older maids had long fled for the safety and warmth of their own beds. At least they had left the towels… D'Eon grabbed a towel and draped it over the Empress' shoulders. She pulled the towel tightly around her.

"We're such fools… the count is handsome and young… whatever did he see in an old woman like me? Except maybe for clearing his debts… We're such fools…" she dabbed at her eyes. "He would have left us anyway… his heart was never ours… How can the likes of us rule over the Empire?"

"Her Majesty, you are no fool. You have ruled Russia wisely…" D'Eon reassured her. "D'Eon de Beaumont, g-go get a towel and dry yourself before you catch a cold…" the Empress said quietly. Perhaps she was not as drunk as they had feared. "This is an order," she added when he hesitated. D'Eon grabbed a towel from the table top and dried his clothes. Natalia was taking too long to return.

"D'Eon, sometimes we wish we were stronger. We still get nightmares about Pytor. It is scary the emptiness we feel at night when all's quiet and we awake… will you stay with me, just for tonight?" Ekaterina huddled in her armchair. Natalia had returned with the clothes but she hung back politely, reluctant to intrude.

"As you wish, Your Majesty… perhaps Natalia could…" D'Eon started.

"Uncle D'Eon, please go change behind that screen. There you would find a chair and some books to your liking. Her Majesty must take her bath before the bathwater freezes…" Natalia immediately took charge. D'Eon wryly took the clothes from her and retreated behind the large lacquered Japanese screen. Natalia had also ordered the servants to bring up some warm water both for the Empress' bath and for her uncle to clean himself up.

After changing into a thick woollen shirt and breeches, D'Eon sat down to read a book by the lamp Natalia had lit for him. She had also brought him some hot tea and biscuits. Soft splashing sounds from the other side of the screen told him that the Empress was taking her bath. The ladies chatted in Russian. The conversation seemed to involve Natalia consoling the Empress on the passing of her latest lover and how the funeral might be arranged quietly and tastefully. He did not know how long lapsed before he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

D'Eon knew he was late for the duel when he opened his eyes. Sunlight was already streaming into the room. Someone had covered him with a quilt. It slid to the floor as he got up. He had just spent the entire night in the bedchamber of a royal lady! He walked to the other side of the screen. The bath had already been emptied and the curtains drawn around it. The Empress and Natalia sat beside a samovar, enjoying a morning tea.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," D'Eon bowed. He apologized but Ekaterina waved it aside. "We asked for your company last night, D'Eon. No harm was done. Natalia kindly agreed to stay the night as well… Alexei! Why are you in such a fluster?" the grand lady said as her grandson burst into the room without knocking first. The boy was breathless.

"Monsieur D'Eon, whatever are you doing here? Sergei is furious you stood him up. Misha and Sasha got your manservant from your house and are stringing him up in the garden!" Alexander announced. Both Natalia and D'Eon ran.

* * *

True enough, poor Robbie was hanging by his ankles from a sturdy yew tree. The young man had clearly been dragged from his bed and was clad only in his shirt and breeches despite the winter day. There were bruises on his face and he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"I thought you would have better manners than to be late for our duel!" Sergei shouted and thrust his sabre at the knight. "I'm sorry… overslept…" D'Eon tried to apologize. "Can you please free Robbie now? He has nothing to do with this…"

"Nothing? He tried to knife my brother!" Sasha shouted. Misha nodded vigorously. There was a red streak across one cheek where Robbie's knife had found its mark. Sergei shouted a command and the Cossack twins released their captive, dropping him headfirst into a pile of snow. Natalia rushed forward to help Robbie up.

"Sergei! We absolutely forbid this!" the Empress cried out imperiously. "There will be no duel between you and Sir D'Eon. Both of you have done great service to Mother Russia and we do not wish to lose either of you."

"So it is true then, there is a new French stallion in the royal bitch's stables," the tsarevich called out from his window overlooking the gardens. D'Eon coloured furiously at the raucous laughter from the tsaverich's friends. The laughter died when Sergei and the Empress glared at Prince Paul's cronies and their harlots. "Paul, you will spend the rest of winter in the monastery of St Sebastian. We want you on the road within the hour," the Empress smiled. Paul hiccupped. He had overstepped his bounds again. "Captain, if any of his company is found in palace grounds within the hour… send them off to Siberia…" she added aloud. There was a mad scramble as the crown prince's friends fled.

The Empress turned her attention to the major. "Sergei, you should be sent to Siberia as well for this unseemly ruckus!" Sergei glared daggers at D'Eon. "Forgive me, your majesty… the fault is mine," D'Eon tried to dissuade the Empress. "If you will allow me to keep my promise to Sergei…" he blustered. Natalia was carrying Robbie indoors with the aid of the Cossack twins. Sergei had his fists clenched to stop himself from pulling out the sabre at his belt.

"So long as it is not to the death. The duel must be stopped upon our command!" the Empress announced. "Guard, bring Sir D'Eon a sword so that he may defend himself!" Someone hastily passed him a blade. It was a rapier and in poor condition, no match for Sergei's sabre. Sergei doffed his heavy winter cloak and fur hat. Half the imperial court and the servants were gathered in the garden and at the windows overlooking the scene by now. D'Eon shivered and it was not from the cold. It was just like that night at Empress Elizaveta's ball but this time his opponent seemed to be eager to inflict some serious injury, if not kill him.

"On guard!" The duel started before D'Eon could ready himself. He barely managed to leap clear from a deadly swing of Sergei's sabre which tore through his shirt sleeve missing his flesh by a hair's breadth. Then Sergei lunged in again with a powerful explosion of energy which sent snow flying. Their blades clashed with a devastating ring of steel. The tip of D'Eon rapier shattered and was sheared off. A well-aimed kick by Sergei sent the French knight's legs sprawling out from under him.

"Uncle, watch out!" Natalia screamed a warning. D'Eon hastily rolled out of the way of Sergei's blade, losing his blade. He groped for his rapier amidst the snow. Sergei cursed and tugged at his blade. In his eagerness, he had lodged his blade deep into a hidden tree root. With his one good eye, he had overestimated the distance between his opponent and him. D'Eon found his rapier and plucked it out from the snow. He staggered to his knees and pointed the shattered point at Sergei's throat from where he was crouching.

"It is over!" Empress Ekaterina announced. There was a murmur among the onlookers. The duel was over too quickly and concluded in a messy manner which lacked the skilled finesse Sir D'Eon had displayed so long ago and the deadly decisiveness Sir Sergei had a reputation for. Sir Sergei finally tugged his now dented sabre free and fell backwards into a snowdrift. His nephews groaned silently at this undignified position as they hastened to their uncle's aid. The Empress bit her lip. She would have to declare an outcome.

"It is a draw!" Natalia said aloud. "Both Sir D'Eon's and Sir Sergei's weapons are no longer fit for duelling with." She stepped closer to her mistress so that it would appear that the outcome was decided by the Empress. "Yes, we hereby also command that Sir Sergei and Sir D'Eon bury their grudges and continue serving Mother Russia," the Empress added. "Now shake hands on this as gentlemen."

* * *

_Max, you should have seen the look on Sir Sergei's face when he had to shake uncle's hand…_ Natalia said to her twin as she combed her hair before her mirror. Milien chuckled far away in Paris. _Think Sir Sergei will find an excuse to kill Uncle D'Eon?_

_No, I doubt it. He holds a grudging respect for Uncle, even if he would die before he'd admit it… but I am worried. The Empress is showing a growing affection for Uncle D'Eon…_

_Oh, it wouldn't be too much trouble if he becomes her lover, Lia. He will only be doing the same thing you did with someone… and she is much too old for children… _

_Max!_

_Rumours say the Empress of Russia has many young lovers and that she killed her husband so she could carry out her affairs freely, but her people respect her, unlike some imbecile here in France. _

_Oh, Max. Auguste tries his best…_ Natalia shook her head. It was a pity Auguste had no able advisors close by.

_Do you have the Psalms?_

_They are with Uncle D'Eon. I saw the book in his dresser when I was putting in his stockings after the maid mistook them for mine… _

_Keep them close by, Lia. They whisper of poets active in Russia. You may need them. _Milien replied in distant Paris. It was nearing the time for a meeting of the Brethren. Jean Paul and Madame Roland would be present there and Master Robespierre would need him in close attendance. Cagliostro and Lorenza could not be relied on and were likely to desert their master if the occasion arose.

**Author's Notes:**

A grudging truce between Sergei and D'Eon, for now. Poor D'Eon was almost in for a re-play of what happened in London, luckily Natalia stayed the night as well with the Empress so the idle gossips can go stuff it. D'Eon seems to attract the friendship of older women. Think Queen Mary, Princess Sophie, Doris Wordsworth and now Empress Ekaterina.

Think I should follow D'Eon's life in Russia or go back to Paris and Robespierre (Robin)?


	65. Cocky Robin

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 65 – Cocky Robin**

"Milien! Maximilien! I demand an explanation!" Robespierre awoke to a commotion in the yard. He groaned and tried to crawl deeper into his blankets before relenting and rising from his bed.

The meeting had dragged on long with Jean Paul pushing for open rebellion and the deaths of the French nobility and the Rolands beseeching all to be calm and not cause needless bloodshed. They had received news from the New World of the changes that had swept through colonies. A nation without any ruling monarchy, it seemed impossible but the colonists had pulled it off. A suggestion of crowning the American general was met with a stern rebuke from the man_. "I did not fight the tyranny of the king to become George I!"_ _What a spirit!_ Jean Paul had played on the charged emotions of all present. The rabble was almost baying for blood and even Robespierre was fearful there would be a riot. Then Milien, bless his soul, had intervened by reminding all of the many changes that had been proposed by Baronne Natalia de Beaumont and adopted by the king.

Milien was already up and in the yard with Charlotte hanging onto him. "Lovers' spat," Lorenza explained. The Italians were hovering at the window overlooking the yard with Francois and Camille. Mrs Tussad was nonchalantly pushing a barrow of what appeared to be a child's corpse into her makeshift morgue at the far end of the yard. Robespierre recalled that they had all spent the night at the Tussads due to the late hour the meeting ended.

"Maxmilien, I love you… why could you not love me? I want to bear your children…" Charlotte hugged her beau and kissed him eagerly.

"Charlotte… that is the point. I'm sorry but there will be no children…" Milien tried to squirm free. "Please…"

"Why? Do you dislike children?" Charlotte whined. Milien cast his eyes up imploringly to his friends at the window. "Poor Mil," Camille shook his head sadly. "After the measles, he could not, what you say, get it up with Charlotte or any other woman. Oh dear…" The lovers tussled with each other before Milien lost his footing and fell into the muck of the yard with Charlotte astride him. "I thought he would prefer the missionary position…" Francois remarked cheekily.

Milien hastily apologised and helped the dark-haired girl to her feet. Just in the nick of time as an irate Madame Roland came out from the kitchen door. Robespierre recalled that after that incident with the poison, Milien's liaison with Charlotte had cooled significantly. A possible explanation would be some after-effect from the huge dose he had taken into his body before Lorenza transferred it to the fish in the Versailles' fountain. A dull ache reminded Robespierre of his bad leg. It had ached monstrously throughout the meeting and he wondered if Jean Paul had anything to do with it.

He did not like the way Jean Paul looked at him. _You're all my pawns,_ those piercing eyes seemed to say. It was odd but most poets seemed to have eyes that are hypnotic. Robespierre shivered. Every time their eyes met, he felt as though the poet were stripping him of his identity as Maximilien Robespierre. He gasped as a sharp pain raced up his shin and stumbled. Lorenza and Cagliostro were by his side, Lorenza murmuring the poems that eased the hurt a little and Cagliostro urging him to take some wine.

_You are a fake, a pretender._ _You're not worthy of carrying the torch of the revolution. You're only some lap-dog whose mistress has gone into the shadows…_ The voices of doubt assailed him. Robespierre gripped the pocket-watch in his hand. The cool metal and gentle ticking always reassured him as did Durand's words. _"You are the youngest of us, Robin. You will have to make the time move, into the new era…" _

_Would Durand recognise him now? A beleaguered revolutionary leader going by the name of a dead man?_

* * *

The months flew both in France and Russia. Winter soon gave way to spring again. In Versailles, gossip had it that the queen was expecting once more. The aging Sir Michel fretted over Etienne's bachelor status. The redhead captain had declined all attempts at tying him with a possible match. The old knight could only guess whether his foster son held a secret torch for the absent Natalia de Beaumont or the queen herself. In Paris, Milien and Charlotte maintained a professional relationship with Charlotte passing messages between Madame Roland and Robespierre. Camille's prints churned out pamphlets and broadsheets which were eagerly discussed in the coffeehouses. Sir William reluctantly left Versailles to attend to his sister's matters when news came to him of Doris' ailing health. Cagliostro was caught selling sub-par cosmetic powders and sentenced to a public flogging. The Italian swore he was done with the Order and packed up his bags for his homeland. Lorenza was left behind in Paris.

By Easter Sunday, the friendship between the French tutor and Her Imperial Majesty, Tsarina of all Russia had deepened and rumours were flying of possible secret marriages. The newly appointed Colonel Sergei declared that he would flog any soldier in his command caught spreading such baseless gossip. Ekaterina only laughed off the rumours. She did enjoy D'Eon's company as much as Natalia's. They were both her dear friends. Prince Alexander understood and did not begrudge his grandmother's attention. The tsaverich remained in the monastery he was exiled to as the poor roads delayed his return to St Petersburg for Easter, to everyone's silent relief.

"Robbie, here is a small gift for you," D'Eon greeted Robbie after returning from attending Easter mass with the Empress. The royals would take their luncheon with the diplomats and high-ranking nobles after the mass. After spending two years in Russia, the de Beaumonts had adopted the Russian custom of giving presents at Easter.

"You've grown, Robbie." D'Eon hugged Robbie. Indeed, the scrawny street urchin had grown into a young gentleman with a roguish air which endeared him to the ladies. D'Eon often wondered if Robbie had sired any bastards on the local girls. There had been an increase in the local population of squalling grey-eyed tots with raven hair. At his age, D'Eon was still struggling with how to profess his love to Anna. Thankfully, Natalia seemed immune to Robbie's charms.

Robbie opened the box he was given. "_Merci,"_ he lifted the pocket watch out of its case. The cover of the brass watch was decorated with an engraving of a robin, encircled by the word LIBERTY. The robin's breast was made of red coral. Natalia had spotted it in a watchmaker's shop window and suggested to her uncle that it would make a good present for their English companion. The gift D'Eon chose for his niece, a string of pink pearls, paled in comparison. Robbie immediately slipped the pocket watch into his vest.

"He is like a son to you, isn't he?" Sergei's voice cut in. His voice sounded a little sad. D'Eon had almost forgotten that Natalia had extended the lunch invitation to the colonel and his nephews, the prince's Russian and music tutors and their families. No doubt Sasha and Misha would regal their fellows later about the lunch. Lady Natalia's intellect and beauty had attracted not only the attention of the Empress, but also a good many suitors. Thus far, Natalia has gently but firmly turned down all offers of marriage.

D'Eon did notice that Sergei's eye was never far from Robbie as he sat at the table. Perhaps he disapproved of how familiar the Englishman acted with the de Beaumonts. Misha and Sasha always acted as if they were their uncle's subordinates and were a bit awkward when Natalia sat them at the table beside their uncle. The pair were probably more used to wolfing down camp rations in a tent than making mealtime conversation or figuring out which fork to use for the salad. Misha finally gave up on the cutlery and settled for eating his pigeon with his hands. Sergei rapped him on the knuckles and reminded him of his manners. Sasha earned a rap on his head for going overboard with the gruesome details of battlefield surgery with the music master's niece. The poor girl did look quite faint and would not touch her ham after that.

Unlike the Cossacks, Robbie conducted himself as if he were born and raised a gentleman. He charmed the Russian tutor's sister and the man's wife. Sergei glared daggers at the youth. "Mister Pavlov's sister, Karin, is wed to the secretary of the state's counsel to Hungary…" Sergei muttered. "Relax, I am sure Robbie will have more sense than to…" D'Eon coaxed.

"Sir D'Eon, the Empress holds you in high esteem but I fear you are naïve about who you choose to surround yourself with. Lord, I do like the lad but my duty…" Sergei allowed his words to trail off. Natalia curtly ordered Robbie to get a bottle of a certain vintage, which the servants would probably get wrong, from the cellar. With a laugh, Robbie excused himself. D'Eon felt an unfathomable sense of unease as he watched the youth go.

* * *

"Sir D'Eon! Bad news! Do you have an English manservant named Robbie or Robin?" Prince Alexander ran into the parlour some weeks later, all aglow from his morning gallop. He paused to apologise to his grandmother for interrupting their tea and tracking mud from his riding boots all over the Persian rugs before continuing. "Mika the stable-hand overheard Sir Sergei and his boys saying they are going to hang a foreign spy, Robin or something… We believe he is referring to your manservant, the one they had hung upside down last winter?"

"Oh dear, I guess Robbie will have to hide in the English embassy for a while," Natalia sipped daintily at her tea. The Empress laughed. "Really, Sergei is too serious at times, but whatever he does, it is for Mother Russia." Robbie's purported spying missions had been a source of annoyance for the Russians. Yet there had never been any real proof that he was more than a mere hanger-on at the English embassy and the de Beaumont house.

"He will not make it to the embassy. We were discussing ambush tactics for fighting in towns, last Sunday in church, well, Sir Sergei, Sasha and Misha… well Misha was scribbling a lot on the maps of the city… Sorry, grandmother, we should have been paying attention to the sermon… We believe he intends to trap his spy on the dockside," Alexander said with his eyes glowing with excitement. "Could we go too?"

"Alexei! You are to do your military studies outside church! You will sit with us in front instead of with the generals in the loft. Perhaps you will be better company than your drunken father," the Empress chided. "And going with them is out of the question. You're heir to the crown. Running about the docks is not a worthy way for you to conduct yourself." She turned to the de Beaumonts. "Have the stables give you their fastest horse. You will need to hurry if you wish to catch up with Sergei."

* * *

The horses whinnied and snorted as they galloped through the streets. Natalia's garb of a highborn lady drew curious stares. She had discarded her pearl-studded headdress at the palace realising that she only knock it off her head trying to ride with it. In their haste, they had neglected to wear their cloaks. An icy wind was whipping in from the east despite the lateness of the year. D'Eon's fingers were so chilled that he could barely hold the reins. Natalia must be freezing with her low-collared dress. The silver cross on its black ribbon round her neck jingled softly as she rode. She had lost her shawl sometime during their gallop. The wind died down as they entered the crowded city centre and were forced to proceed on foot, leaving their frothing steeds in the care of a local stable.

"Sasha," Natalia tugged at her uncle's sleeve and pointed at a scruffy peddler hanging about outside the English embassy. It was one of the Cossack twins. Sasha had exchanged his smart Cossack uniform for a patched peasant smock and leggings. He had his walking stick in his hand as he called out his wares. The embassy was located along a wide avenue that ended at the docks and warehouses. Sasha's eyes spotted them at the same time D'Eon saw him. He only smiled and continued peddling his ribbons.

"Uncle! We need to find Robbie before Sir Sergei or Misha does!" Natalia sprinted down the road with her skirts flying. D'Eon ran after her. Sasha had a bad leg. He could not run well and was most likely a decoy. His brother and uncle would do the actual capturing. The prince had warned them of that possibility. Young Alexander would be a fine tactician someday, D'Eon thought grimly.

The docks were packed with all manner of goods, merchants, sailors from all over Europe. Tall stately ships loaded and unloaded their cargos. D'Eon was surprised to see a monkey scampering about. The animal hopped onto the shoulder of a grizzled sailor with a peg leg. A black sailor staggered under his load as his captain threatened to whip him. Whores worked the crowds and D'Eon was afraid his niece would be harassed by the rough sailors. Instead, Natalia sailed through the press with her head held high. Perhaps they took her for the wife or daughter of some noble or merchant here to see the ships. There was an argument between an Italian and a Russian merchant, conducted via a translator, over the price of a marble statue. There was no sign of the Cossacks or Robbie.

"There!" Natalia gasped. She was fairly breathless from the running. D'Eon spotted a slim figure limping out from an alleyway between two warehouses. It was Robbie and he had been wounded. The hilt of a throwing knife stuck out from his right shoulder. His leg was bleeding as well. The hunted man looked around. He saw his French friends, hesitated then he made his choice, running away from them. Immediately, he was pursued by Sergei and Misha. D'Eon and Natalia followed. "Robbie! Sergei! Stop!" D'Eon shouted. His cries were drowned out by the din of the docks. The thrill of the hunt was on and D'Eon knew that the pair would seriously hurt if not kill Robbie if he were to be captured.

Robbie had something clutched to his chest. For a dreadful moment, D'Eon thought it was the Psalms. Robbie tripped and fell. The papers he held scattered into the mud. Misha was closing in with his dagger. With an almost superhuman effort, Robbie yanked the knife out from his shoulder and flung it at his pursuer. Misha managed to dodge the knife but stumbled on a coil of rope. Robbie decided to relinquish the bulk of the documents he had stolen and make a run for it. Blood flowed freely from his shoulder.

"Sir Sergei, please…" D'Eon pleaded and grabbed at the Russian's arm. The knight only shook him off. Robbie had vanished into the teeming mass of dockhands, sailors and merchants.

"Robbie, you imbecile…" Natalia was retrieving the papers from the mud. She shook her head at the contents. They were undeniable proof of Robbie's spying activities.

A tall ship, the _Queen Alice_, was casting off for her voyage. Misha leapt to his feet and ran excitedly to his uncle, gesturing wildly. Hanging onto a rope being hauled onto the ship's deck was the spy. Robbie's coat and shirt were stained crimson with blood. Misha readied a throwing knife. It needed a good hand to hit him at that growing distance. A brisk wind was blowing the _Queen Alice_ out to sea. D'Eon's heart leapt. Robbie was going to make it. The ship's sailors were hauling him up and judging by the cheerful banter, he was with friends. Sergei placed a restraining hand on his nephew's shoulder and shook his head.

The Russian knight took out a pistol from his greatcoat. "Sir D'Eon, forgive me, tovarisch," Sir Sergei whispered. D'Eon did not hear the pistol being fired. Instead, he watched in silent horror as Robbie suddenly jerked and clutched at his chest. The last pieces of his prize fell into the waters of the harbour. He would have fallen as well if the sailors had not grabbed him by his coat and hauled him onto the deck. There were shouts in English both for a doctor and a pastor.

Sergei turned on his heel. "Thus we have carried out our duties to Mother Russia," the Russian knight said quietly. D'Eon watched in stunned silence as the ship sailed into the distance. Surely Robbie could not hope to survive a shot like that. Natalia sobbed and crossed herself. There was nothing they could have done for Robbie.

Misha knelt and crossed himself as well, praying in silence. The dignified picture was ruined when the mute finished off his prayers by spitting out a chip of broken tooth. Misha had a bloodied nose and a bruise near his eye. Robbie had not left his opponent unscathed. Sergei recited a prayer softly in Russian before ordering his nephew to leave with him. Natalia grimly handed the salvaged documents to him. No words were said to the de Beaumonts.

"They did what they needed to do for their country. We would have done the same for France, wouldn't we?" Natalia mused as they trotted dejectedly back to the palace.

**Author's Notes: **

We would not be seeing Robbie for now. His spying activities have come to a sorry end.


	66. The Exiles

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

I believe there is some confusion. Robin is not dead yet.

Robbie is D'Eon's English valet/ manservant whose spying activities resulted in Sir Sergei shooting him. He has grey eyes and raven-black hair. His status is unknown for now.

Robin (now Robespierre) is in Paris, trying to lead the revolutionaries. He's the red-haired, blue-eyed page who has now grown up and was de facto guardian to Milien while Milien was a boy.

**Chapter 66 – The Exiles **

Robbie's attempt at stealing Russia state secrets had severe repercussions for the de Beaumonts. The Russian court was in an uproar. Wild rumours spread like fire. D'Eon walked into a room and was roughly cornered by a squad of irate palace guards. Between the guards' poor French and his poor command of Russian, D'Eon was certain that the final outcome would be messy. He was fortunate that Prince Alexander had chanced upon the scene before the situation could escalate.

"_D'Eon, as much as we hate to do this, we cannot allow you to remain here at the palace or in St Petersburg."_ The Empress' words echoed in his mind as he watched the dreary landscape outside the coach. _Exile._ Officially, he was being sent to the south of Russia to help Sir Sergei with breeding and training horses for the Imperial cavalry. Sir Sergei and his nephews were travelling with him. D'Eon wondered if Empress Ekaterina was punishing Sir Sergei and the twins for the loss of D'Eon's companionship by sending them to the empire's backwater with him. The confines of the coach did not agree with them and the trio were riding their steeds alongside, with occasional forays into the surrounding woods.

Across him sat his biggest regret, Natalia. His niece had asked to be allowed to accompany him in exile. _"Uncle D'Eon's command of Russian is poor, he would need help in the south,"_ Natalia had said. She had given up her post as the Empress' lady-in-waiting and the comforts of St Petersburg. Now she cradled the book of psalms in her hands as she slept. A shout from Sasha announced that they had arrived.

Sergei had described the town they were being sent to as a ramshackle garrison town. It was warmer than Siberia, but it sat near the border with the Ottoman Empire. There were roving bandit bands in the mountains round the town. The town itself was peopled by Cossacks and their families. There was an Orthodox church with a fortress-like convent nearby. It was also Sasha and Misha's hometown.

"Misha and Sasha will be going to the convent to visit their baby sister," Sir Sergei said. The twins galloped off towards the convent. "Sister?" Natalia rubbed her eyes sleepily. "Those two have a sister?" she frowned in disbelief. The pair hardly gave a hint that they had any family besides their uncle.

"Yes, actually, she is their half-sister. Lizaveta. Her mother placed her in the convent as she did not trust her daughter being in the town after her death. I will settle you with the quartermaster's family… or would Lady Natalia prefer lodging at the convent instead of with the garrison?"

"I'll prefer staying with uncle," Natalia smiled. Sergei rolled his eyes and nudged D'Eon. "Be prepared for some callers and soon," he nodded at the troop of eager young men who had gathered around their coach with offers to help with the horses and luggage. It was a rare thing for a beautiful young woman to arrive at the army garrison. Natalia smiled and greeted them with proper courtesy. Sergei introduced D'Eon to an old major who was in charge of caring for the horses and whose duties he would be assisting with. The old grandfather spoke French with an accent so thick, D'Eon could barely make out the words. "He's asking if you would mind goose for dinner," Sergei explained.

"Sure, goose would be nice." D'Eon immediately felt sorry when Sergei translated his reply for the old man's wife. The stout countrywoman seized a passing goose and promptly wrung its neck. A hearty dinner would be prepared for their guests and the attending officers of the garrison.

* * *

The twins were back before nightfall but after dinner had started. The pair slipped into their seats at the dinner table without much fuss at missing the goose and the better part of the main course. They informed Sergei in Russian that his wife, their aunt, was well and asked if he would like to call on her. Sir Sergei regretfully shook his head. "Misha, Sasha, you know how seeing me sets her off… The good sisters had had quite enough of that the last time I called. How's our little Liza?" he tore into a chunk of lamb.

"Growing into a fine beauty with hair like a field of golden wheat and cornflower-blue eyes. Are you sure you want her to stay in the convent?" Sasha said mockingly. "Oh dear," the Russian knight shuddered visibly. "She's only twelve… I'll prefer she stays in the convent, preferably in pious prayer before the Virgin. And may God grant she remains a virgin until her wedding night."

Misha gestured with his hands. "Do we have permission to shoot any boy who attempts to call on her in the convent? The Mother Superior informs us that the baker's brat, blacksmith's apprentice and…" Sasha translated. Sergei glanced at D'Eon and Natalia. Natalia had been eavesdropping on the Cossacks' conversation.

"Do you really believe your niece is simple, Sir Sergei?" Natalia asked. "The townspeople call her Simple Liza."

"Unfortunately, my lady, yes. Lizaveta was never quite right after that fever."

Natalia decided she would call on the convent. She would need to know how much Liza knew of the outside world. Being forcibly cloistered in a convent with possibly over-pious nuns could not be good for any child, even if the family had the noblest of intentions.

As it turned out Sir Sergei's expectations were not far from the truth. Lizaveta Voronstov was hopelessly naïve and optimistic. The nuns liked the ever helpful and smiling girl but they shuddered at her naivety. "There was this peddler who sought shelter at the church while she was praying there last Easter. He asked her to lift her skirts and she did… Thank goodness Mother Superior happened to walk in and saw what that knave was up to," a chatty sister informed Natalia. "Mother Tatiana was trained by her late father in knife-throwing and the altar candlestick is about the same weight. Liza has no notion of evil at all. Everything to her is good and wholesome. Even if those nasty bandits were to come, she'd probably invite them in for dinner…"

Natalia decided that she would visit the convent regularly and befriend the poor girl. The nuns were good company. Most were childless widows from the garrison or women who had chosen the cloister after failing to find a suitable husband after their first flush of youth. There were some former noblewomen who had opted for the solitude of cloister after a lifetime of serving at the Imperial Court. There were few children Liza's age within in the convent and those in the town teased Simple Liza mercilessly whenever she ventured out with the sisters to help with the garrison infirmary. The town lacked a proper doctor and the convent's nuns helped where they could with common ailments and minor injuries.

In the meanwhile, D'Eon settled into an easy comradeship with the soldiers in that Russian Cossack town. As horsemen, they all understood horses and admired the finer points of good horsemanship. Sir Sergei often had to arrange forays to the hills to deal with local bandits. D'Eon never participated in them as his poor command of Russian caused some trouble in the communication. The months passed. D'Eon wondered if he and Natalia would be destined to live out their lives in this quiet corner of Russia without ever seeing his homeland again.

* * *

In France, there was great celebration as the queen finally delivered the long-awaited prince and Dauphin to the throne of France. It had been a long wait with one princess, a miscarriage and countless false alarms. Cagliostro was back and peddling his quackery much to Robespierre's chagrin. Lorenza was flitting about the coffeehouses and saloons, mingling with the nobles and gathering news. Camille Desmoulins was constantly in and out of prison for his pamphlets. Robespierre had to defend him in court on several occasions in the past year. The duke of Orleans was invited to attend a ball in celebration of the new Dauphin.

"You just stay out of trouble," Etienne hissed when he recognized Milien in the Duke's entourage. There was a lingering ill-will between them after Milien's brazen participation in D'Eon's rescue. The redhead had held himself aloof from Milien since that day. The blond only smiled and stepped aside to allow a haughty lady to pass. Milien hated to admit it but his friendship with Etienne was irreparably damaged by his chosen path. Etienne was hopelessly loyal to the crown. He would not be persuaded to join their cause. There were other soldiers, officers even, who were now with the Brethren. Many had their eyes opened by their experiences in the New World. _For liberty and equality…_

* * *

Robespierre was also there as part of the Duke's entourage. The duke had insisted that he attend. "If the ballrooms do not agree with you, the gardens are open today in celebration of the royal birth." So Robespierre chose to remain in the outer gardens, mingling with the public. For a while, he reminisced about the days of his boyhood when he was a page under Queen Marie.

"_Robin, look at this rose…" Her Majesty loved her roses. "Could you please cut a few for my rooms?" Dauphin Auguste would be playing with his soldiers and horses on the lawn under Lady Anna's watchful eye. Lady Lia de Beaumont would be strolling down the walk with her knot of would-be suitors… She would stop at the fountain to speak with her brother. _

"But I like Mademoiselle Josephine!"

"Shut up, you Corsican runt! You don't even deserve to look at her!"

Robespierre's daydream of the past was rudely broken by a scuffle. Two youths were beating up a much smaller boy, who had curled up into a ball to avoid the kicks and punches. The lawyer hastened over to break up the fight. The attackers took flight when the redhead approached. Milien hastened over as well. The blond reached the victim and helped him sit up.

"Are you alright?"

"_Oui, merci_…" the boy spluttered. He glanced about. "Lord, did she see me?"

"Who?" Robespierre asked. "Mademoiselle Josephine, I am a mess!" the boy exclaimed and staggered to his feet. Now that they could see his face, both Robespierre and Milien realised the boy was much older than they expected. Twelve at least or fifteen at most… Still, he was awfully short for his age.

"Napoleon! Lord, her cousins caught you, didn't they?" two youths with a striking resemblance to Napoleon came running up. They were much taller. "Mama's gonna kill us. You know Mademoiselle Josephine's folks hate you hanging about her! Forget her. She's engaged to that lord something-or-other… they would never consider us Bonapartes fit company for her."

"But I like her, and being a soldier is a decent profession!" Napoleon insisted as he nursed a bleeding nose. "Allow me," Robespierre pressed his handkerchief to the boy's nosebleed. "This might hurt a bit," Milien touched his broken nose. He straightened the bone. To his credit, the patient did not even flinch. Napoleon turned to his brothers. "I can beat them. Mademoiselle Josephine's cousins…"

"You're too small," the other boys insisted. Napoleon glared at them. Robespierre chuckled. The feisty young man reminded him of himself when he was younger. No one really took Robin the page seriously, except Queen Marie, Durand and perhaps D'Eon. "Great oaks from small acorns grow, Napoleon Bonaparte," Milien said quietly.

"What does that mean?" the dark-haired lad scrunched his brow in bewilderment. "I don't care about oaks or corns… will I ever win Josephine's hand?"

"Perhaps, someday… if you love her…" Milien grinned. Robespierre had a sense that Milien was looking past the present Napoleon into the future. "But never forget where you came from, no matter how far you rise…" Milien waved as the Bonaparte boys, tired of waiting, grabbed their brother and dragged him off into the crowd of merrymakers thronging the outer gardens. "He would go far, very far…" Milien mused.

"You must beware of Jean Paul, Master Robespierre." Both Milien and Robespierre jumped. They had not sensed Sir William's approach. The English knight was back in Versailles. Both revolutionaries regarded him with suspicion. The Englishman ignored their glares. "They say the princess is a sweet girl with dark brown hair and the dauphin takes after his father. Madame Roland has her supporters in the enlightened nobility and the middle-classes. You have the ear of the soldiery and the common man. Jean Paul has the criminals in his pocket. And at the same time, you." He patted Robespierre on the shoulder.

"What do you mean by that, Sir William?" Milien asked. "Master Robespierre is no friend of Jean Paul the scoundrel!" Master Robespierre had gone all pale. The poet's words had shaken him.

"He knows what I mean… A friend told me once of four musketeers. Two are now with the Good Lord… One is currently in exile in a distant land. The last one has to make the time move forward. But will he do it as himself or… You speak wisely, my young friend. But you must heed your own words, young Maximilien." The English knight sat down by the fountain and let his hand dip into the water and scoop up a goldfish. "You were wounded by one of his gargoyles once, weren't you? A wound that festered. Jean Paul is malicious and once he gets his claws into you… you have to allow the one you exiled to return."

"Don't listen to him, Master…" Milien spat. He could see how the poet's words were distressing his master.

Robespierre, no, Robin knew the English knight was right. He had felt Jean Paul's oppressive aura on more than one occasion. The doubts and uncertainties… The pain was shooting up his leg again. _Perhaps_…

"No, don't go cutting off your leg, _mon ami_," Sir William shook his head and allowed the goldfish to return to the water. "You have something important to you, more so than any psalms… you know the truth…" he pointed at Robespierre's coat, right at where Durand's old pocket watch ticked away steadily. "Who was that hope given to?" he asked enigmatically before Milien pulled Robespierre away from the poet. Sir William smiled at their retreating backs and wondered how D'Eon was faring in Russia.

"Sir…" Sir William glanced up as the man had been waiting for arrived. "Congrats, my friend, your wife had triplets. All healthy boys," the knight said. The spy's eyes flitted up momentarily as the royal couple came onto the balcony to present the new prince to their subjects. The gardens erupted into applause and cheers of "_Viva le Dauphin!_ Long live the Prince! Long Live King Louis!" Amidst the commotion, the spy passed his precious cargo to his spymaster.

"Why don't you cheer with them like any loyal Frenchman?" Sir William asked. A powdered wig and a soldier's uniform concealed the man's identity. He had been lingering among the crowd unnoticed as the poet chatted with the two revolutionaries.

"Sir Willie, you must know I have no loyalty to him, and yes, there is a _demoiselle_ involved in that…" the spy's grey eyes twinkled with mischief.

**Author's Notes: **

Some years have passed. And yes, I could not help slipping a young Napoleon into the story as a cameo. King Louis XVI (Auguste) now has a daughter and a son by his queen. Robin/ Robespierre is facing some difficulties of his own. I have dropped a hint on Robbie's fate in the chapter.

Historically, King Louis XVI and his queen Marie Antoinette had 4 children, 2 sons and 2 daughters. But by the time the French Revolution erupted, they had lost their eldest son to sickness (likely consumption) and their youngest daughter within days of her birth. By the time the revolution ended (i.e. when the historical Robespierre's neck met the Madame guillotine's blade), the immediate royal family was officially reduced to one princess. Both parents were guillotined and the prince died in prison.

Josephine, future Empress of France, lost her first husband to the guillotine and narrowly escaped the same fate herself. Then the widow took up with a certain up and coming general…


	67. The Prince and the Little Sister

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 67 – The Prince and the Little Sister**

"Folks say you prefer the company of men to females," Sergei said from somewhere within the steam of the sauna. "There's no truth to that," D'Eon murmured sleepily. It had taken D'Eon a while to get used to the idea of a common bathhouse, and sharing it with other men in the nude. The steam and natural dimness of the sauna prevented any real awkwardness. D'Eon was painfully conscious about his badly scarred back. Sasha had spread tales about the Frenchman having been captured by Turkish pirates, subjected to unspeakable tortures and later escaping his captors through sheer wit and willpower. Wild tales were the forte of the talkative Cossack. It was highly embarrassing having to deal with a steady stream of admirers, both male and female.

"After being with a king, I suppose even a general's son isn't good enough for her now. I can understand why Natalia does not see any potential husbands here, but you? There are loads of young things and their mothers trying to get you down the aisle… Respectable widows aplenty too. Folks here tend to marry young because the lads often get killed fighting bandits and Turks… My Sasha and Misha here are still single due to the fact one's crippled and the other's mute. Misha, girls prefer a man who can sing…" There was a slight rustle at Sergei's words. Someone flicked a birch branch across Sergei's back, most likely Misha. It was part of the routine. After sitting and sweating, they would beat each other's backs with birch leaves before running out in the nude and dipping in the river to cool off. If the river was frozen, a snow drift would do.

"You ride well for an outsider," Sergei complimented. "_Nyet,_ he only managed to snag the fleece because Misha and I tossed it to him," Sasha complained. D'Eon smiled. The local sport of snatching a sheepskin while on horseback was a messy and raucous game enjoyed by the men. D'Eon had come dangerously close to being jostled off his steed and trampled in the crush. He would have fallen if it weren't for the twins riding beside him. The indoor entertainment within the garrison was restricted to singing, wrestling, boxing and drinking. All of which D'Eon failed miserably at. The outdoors sport of fleece-snatching was one of the few sports the Frenchman could excel at.

The door burst open suddenly. "Uncle! Sir Sergei!" the silhouette of a woman appeared through the thick steam. D'Eon blinked. _Lia?_

"Woman! Don't you ever knock?" Sir Sergei bellowed as he fumbled for his towel. His nephews followed his example. D'Eon blinked and reached for his towel. It was not Lia, but her daughter. Natalia had grown into a splitting image of her mother. Now she was slightly older than Lia was when she passed away, but she did not lack Lia's strength of character. Her taking Simple Liza under her wing set Sir Sergei and her brothers' concerns at ease. No young man would think of taking advantage of Liza, not unless they mean to take Liza as a wife, at sword-point if necessary. Sasha also let loose a tale about Natalia being a trained bodyguard to the Empress until an injury ended her career and Natalia had proven herself a worthy swordswoman in a series of duels in the garrison.

"Sorry, but you should know that His Highness, Prince Alexander is here," Natalia said. Having dressed, the men went to greet the prince and were surprised to find him chatting with a smiling Liza in the postmaster's parlour. Prince Alexander had grown into a fine youth with handsome features and a regal bearing. The merchantman's clothes he wore did little to reduce his aura. Liza was quite taken with him. D'Eon frowned. Liza had taken her vows at the tender age of fourteen, against much protest from her family. Now she was getting a positively smitten look on her face.

"Please, Your Highness… stop teasing Liza…" Sasha said. "She is only a simple girl…" Misha and Sergei had both gone as pale as new snow. Misha was frantically waving his hands to his sister but she only shook her pretty head.

"So this charming little miss is your sister? We could not see the likeness," the prince teased. "We're travelling incognito. Grandma will possibly kill me if she knew I am here instead of Moscow..." They soon settled in for a warm conversation. There was much catching-up between the prince and his old tutor. It was night before they realised how late it was. Liza would have to stay the night, it being too late to journey back to the convent with the threat of bandits in the hills. The postmaster's wife whipped up a hearty meal for them.

* * *

D'Eon expected his student to leave for Moscow the next morning, but bad weather caused him to tarry. Then when the weather broke a week later, Alexander still remained. And that was when D'Eon realized that the prince had fallen for a pretty little nun. "Your Highness, please I must advise you to restrain yourself…" he whispered in French. "Liza is a nun who has taken her vows…" Alexander only shrugged and smiled when the object of his affection came trotting along.

"Alex! Oh dear, I will have to do penance later…" Liza giggled. Natalia had asked the Mother Superior to keep Liza occupied within the convent and away from the village. At least until the prince left for Moscow. The antics of the pair had not gone unnoticed by the townspeople. The older ones looked on with disapproval. The young giggled and teased behind their backs. Liza's brothers and uncle were outraged. Alexander hugged the nun and kissed her on both cheeks. D'Eon groaned silently. It was like watching his niece stumble into her disastrous affair with Auguste all over again.

"Uncle, now I understand how you felt back then," Natalia murmured. The young couple, sixteen-year-old Alexander and his fifteen-year-old sweetheart, made for the shelter of the local tavern, where they were soon singing a duet before half the town to the accompaniment of the local organ . Alexander was stubborn once he set his mind to something. D'Eon was well-aware of his student's character. It was not unusual for him to spend the entire night up trying to figure out some project. Simple Liza was, well, immensely flattered by his attentions. Speculation was now rife that the prince had bedded the young nun. It did not bode well for the pair's reputations.

It was not too long before news came from the capital asking where the prince was and why he was not in Moscow. Sir Sergei and D'Eon had the thankless job of dealing with the messengers seeking His Highness. Finally, an irate Empress ordered her wayward grandson back to St Petersburg, under the watchful eye of both Sir Sergei and Sir D'Eon. Natalia, Sasha and Misha did not need to be asked if they would like to accompany their uncles. The problem arose when the prince insisted that Liza join him on his journey.

"But we will miss each other terribly if we're apart…" Liza sobbed. "Admit it, Sir D'Eon and Sir Sergei, Liza isn't suited for life in a convent," the prince added.

"Oh, so she'll be better suited for life as your whore?" Sasha snapped outright, quite forgetting himself. Sir Sergei boxed him hard on the ears for his impudence to a member of the royal family. The prince bit his lower lip thoughtfully before continuing. "We mean to marry her." Misha slapped his brow in disbelief at the prince's words. Sergei gaped like a goldfish. Sasha let loose a string of Russian curses.

* * *

So they rode in awkward silence throughout the journey, not even speaking more than needed when they stopped for the night. D'Eon and Natalia rode in the coach to better chaperone the young couple, while Liza's kin rode on horseback.

_I'm going back to St Petersburg, Max…_ Natalia thought. She clutched the book of Psalms to her chest. Somehow, they had grown distant this time with her entering the sleepy garrison life. Her twin hardly responded to her now. But this time he did.

_It is starting, Lia. Come back as soon as you can._ Natalia trembled and looked over to where Prince Alexander was pointing out the sights of the road to a delighted Liza. The girl had never set foot outside her hometown before. Now the simple country girl was going to St Petersburg.

Things in St Petersburg had changed. Various lovers have come and gone in their absence. The latest lover the Empress had taken was a minor count, who apparently loved her as much in return. He was single and apparently, a secret marriage was a real possibility. The old royal chaplain had died of cholera the last summer and his replacement had finally been selected after a good deal of wrangling between Moscow and the Empress. The Tsarevich was rumoured to be pursuing a young lady of noble extraction without his usual uncouth manners.

"Father Grigori says the church has no problems with a marriage in that situation," Prince Alexander said. Father Grigori was the latest royal chaplain. "However, she will be required to hand over the throne to her heir. The tsarevich has sobered up a bit, under Father Grigori's guidance. Fewer wild parties now… but I believe he is just trying to get into Grandmamma's good graces, lest she cuts him out of the succession entirely."

* * *

The Empress was not pleased at all when her grandson announced his intention to wed Liza. "Alex! The court, the Church, no one will allow that!" Ekaterina fairly screamed. "She's a nun! You have to wed someone of your standing at least!"

"Grandmother! We have tolerated your lovers and the Tsarevich's excesses. We are much in love and we will cherish each other to the end of our lives!" Alexander protested. "We're not some pawn you can just marry off to some princess! You meddlesome old witch!" It was fortunate that the Voronstovs were not present. Enraged, the Empress lunged at Alexander.

Ekaterina had aged much under the strain of the empire. Her hair had faded to snowy white and her frame appeared to be frail and racked with arthritis. However, she struggled with her grandson with the ferocity of a wildcat. Immediately, both Natalia and D'Eon tried to pull both combatants apart. Natalia took hold of the Empress by the shoulders while D'Eon managed to grab his student's arm to stop him from striking his grandmother.

"Please calm down, Your Highness!" D'Eon coaxed. Then he noticed someone else entering the room from the corner of his eye. He recognized the Crown Prince of Russia, the Tsarevich Paul. The prince sported a red nose and flushed cheeks as if he had been drinking. There was a black-cassocked priest with oddly piercing eyes at his side. There was something about the priest which disturbed him.

His inattention was to cost him. In the struggle, they were dangerously close to the open window. Alexander shoved his teacher back with his elbow and he stumbled against the ledge. D'Eon felt himself overbalancing, before falling through the air. "Uncle D'Eon!" Natalia's scream echoed in his ears. He landed with a soft thud in a steamy pile of compost before he passed out.

* * *

"Oh, D'Eon… we're so sorry…"

D'Eon opened his eyes to the Empress' voice. Natalia was sponging his brow. "Easy now. You only have a few bruises. The compost broke your fall." She helped D'Eon sit up. The first thing he noticed was that he was not wearing the same clothes he was in at the time of his fall. "Sasha and Misha helped you change out of your soiled clothes, uncle. You were not exactly fragrant," Natalia explained. They were in a guest room of the palace. Immediately, D'Eon was besieged with questions and apologies from the Empress and her grandson. Over the shoulders of his visitors, D'Eon saw the same priest he saw earlier. The man still inspired that sense of dread in him. His head started to pound.

Natalia turned to the Empress, Prince Alexander and the mysterious priest. "Your Majesty, Your Highness, Father Grigori, perhaps it is best we let Sir D'Eon get some rest…" she suggested. The trio left the room. The pounding in D'Eon's head eased a bit. The lull proved to be temporary, for the Voronstovs were the next to call.

"Father Grigori claims that His Highness could wed Liza, but I'm sure the church will not allow it… The empire will not allow it!" Sir Sergei was livid. "But Father Grigori…" Liza whined. Her brothers had her between the two of them, as if they feared she might elope with the prince the minute their collective backs were turned.

"That priest claims things that are impossible! Do you know that Count Orlov is married? But our priest is claiming that that marriage is invalid and that the Empress could wed him… If the boyars learn of this… His wife may be in a mental asylum but she still has powerful relations… Lord, that meddlesome cleric would be ruin of Mother Russia!" the Russian knight was furious. "And rumours are already spreading about His Highness and Liza." Misha was gesturing wildly but he was no less distraught than his uncle and brother.

"Father Grigori is not who he claims to be…" Sasha said. "We were trying to get Liza here locked up in a convent when we happened to mention his name to the abbess. Well, let's say that the Church has nothing good to say about him. The abbess refers to him as a devil and that the Empress and her family have been bewitched by him. They are scared of him and didn't want to get involved. We wouldn't have brought Liza back here otherwise… where that girl?"

Liza had made use of the lapse in her brothers' attention to slip away. "She's probably somewhere in the palace… you two go look for her now," Sergei ordered his nephews out. The twins obeyed.

"That priest is a Poet," Natalia said quietly. "We have been away from St Petersburg too long." Something was definitely amiss. She had seen the count. He was a bit of a simpleton with the personality of a fish and balding to boot. He was not the Empress' type. Ekaterina generally preferred witty lovers. Natalia had been reassigned to her previous post of lady-in-waiting and she was still wearing her headdress. Now she took it off her head and loosened her plaits, looking more and more like her mother.

"Mother Russia is in danger from that false priest then. Shall we make an end of him?" Sergei said as soon as he was certain his nephews were well out of earshot. "We can't kill a priest," D'Eon protested. He might not be of the Orthodox faith but he was still a staunch Catholic. "We can't kill him without just cause. He may be a misguided fool or a charlatan," Natalia said quietly. There were poets and poets. Some were well-meaning fools while others were of a more malevolent streak.

"I will seek out this Father Grigori and speak to him," Natalia decided. She realised that the priest had mistakenly directed his attention towards her uncle rather than her. Perhaps he did not expect a lady-in-waiting to be a poet.

**Author's Notes:**

A poet within the Russian court? An unsuitable liaison between the Empress' grandson and the Cossack twin's sister. D'Eon and Natalia have some loose ends to tie up before leaving for Paris.


	68. Darker Side of Paradise

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 68 – Darker Side of Paradise **

A few hours later found four men in a gloomy mood in D'Eon's bedroom. Sasha and Misha did find Liza eventually. His Highness had taken her out shopping and Liza had swapped her modest novice nun's habit for a stunning dress of the latest fashion. Needless to say, their uncle Sergei was not pleased. "She looks like some courtesan!" Sergei complained. "Her breasts were showing and her shoulders…"

"Come on, Sergei… The neckline wasn't that low…" D'Eon coaxed. The man looked as if he were ready to pop a vein. Sergei took a gulp from his brandy flask and passed it to Sasha, who took a swallow. Misha was next to receive the flask and he drained it with a sip. _Normally, our honour demands one of us challenge the offender to a duel… but since it is His Highness…_ Misha gestured furiously.

"No duels," Sergei grunted. "Go fetch us some drink," he ordered Misha. The mute sauntered off.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the Cossacks and the Frenchman, some scheming was afoot in the silent halls of the Winter Palace. Someone entered the palace armoury and unlocked the gun cabinet. _Where was that gun?_ There would be a hunt on tomorrow. The Empress and her grandson would attend despite their current quarrel. Appearances have to be kept up for the nobles and the public.

"_You, my liege, are the future of Russia. Never should a woman rule Russia…"_ the man wondered how he had allowed the priest to talk him into this, but Father Grigori was so earnest. Yes, this was his destiny. The crown of Imperial Russia beckoned. He replaced Prince Alexander's personal rifle with the almost identical one Father Grigori had given him.

Things would work out. With the Empress out of the way, he could cut out the tiresome act of courting that plain noblewoman and go back to his wild parties, with the royal treasury open for his use. No one would defy him, not even the prince, once he is crowned. _Did that rifle just glow?_ The crown prince Paul blinked his eyes. _No, it must be a trick of the candlelight. _He hastily made his retreat, clumsily knocking over a suit of armour on the way.

* * *

Natalia pulled her shawl closer around her. Spring was late in St Petersburg this year. The streets were frosted with ice and a freezing wind was blowing in from the sea. Father Grigori had gone out to the city. He had informed a stable lad at the palace of his plans before riding off on a borrowed horse. Natalia had taken a horse as well to arrive at her destination before nightfall. The church of St Nicholas was her destination. Ironically, it was in that same churchyard her stillborn son slept. She was familiar enough with the place and its habits not be alarmed that a light was still burning inside. The doors of St Nicholas were open to all.

The priest was kneeling before the altar as if in prayer. "Father Grigori?" the priest turned slightly at her voice. "We have to talk, about the Empress and her latest paramour, Count Orlov. And His Highness as well…" Natalia stepped forward and immediately sensed the throbbing power of the poems the priest had laid in wait for her. She hastened back, but it was too late.

"I expected the French knight," Father Grigori got up slowly. He stared her straight in the eye. "Not a woman like you… No woman should rule the Motherland…"

"Empress Ekaterina has ruled Russia well…"

"It is time for the rightful heir to take over from the usurper… This is not your country, woman. Your loyalties, like your uncle's, lie elsewhere… France perhaps…" the priest's voice was as smooth as a roll of silk. Even Natalia found it difficult to resist. She felt compelled to approach the priest. She had to fight…

"_The Lord brings my soul out of trouble. He cuts of mine enemies, and destroys all them that afflict my soul…" _she started but the words of the poems refused to come.

"You yearn for the same things he does. Family and home… and a child, yes. Children." They were so close now that Natalia could smell the stale stench on his breath. She tried to force herself to flee, to remember the words her twin had taught her and she had learnt. _From who?_ The candles on the altar were hurting her eyes. _So bright…_

* * *

"Mama!" Natalia opened her eyes in bewilderment. She was lying in a luxuriously soft bed. Slowly she sat up and tried to make sense of the murmur of voices around her. "Mama!" a small boy hugged her. Yes. This was her son. The little boy had the light brown hair of his father and her green-blue eyes. She was in the most opulent room she had seen and glancing out the window, she recognized the famous rose gardens of Versailles. _Yes. She was home in Versailles. _

"Send word to His Majesty, Her Majesty is awake!" _Her Majesty? _It was then that she caught sight of the double portrait on the far wall. It depicted King Louis XVI and his queen. She was the queen. Before she could wonder further, her uncle came. D'Eon was wearing the uniform of a general of France.

A pretty red-haired woman was coaxing her son to let her have some rest. Natalia guessed that this was the royal nanny, Lady Anna de Beaumont. Her uncle smiled fondly at his niece before slipping an arm around his wife and giving her a peck on the cheek. "D'Eon!" Anna squealed. Natalia giggled. Her son made use of this distraction to escape his nursemaid and climb into his mother's bed. Natalia ruffled the boy's curly hair and wondered why she felt ill at ease.

"My beloved!" Auguste was the next to arrive. His stride was confident and lacked any hint of hesitance. He kissed his queen on both cheeks, then on her lips. He had clearly hurried over from a meeting with his council. A knot of advisors and well-wishers followed at his heels.

"Forgive me, Your Majesties… but this isn't really proper…" a woman's voice interrupted.

"Grandma! Grandpa!" the little dauphin clapped his chubby hands in delight. Lia and Maximilien Robespierre bowed formally to greet their daughter. "Natalie, we were so worried about you… Thank God, a thanksgiving mass is in order…" Lia gushed. _Natalie?_ "What happened?" Natalia asked. "Who am I? Where am I?"

"The doctor warned us about this… You fell off your horse and bumped your head," Lia explained gently. D'Eon and Robespierre started politely ushering the rest of the nobles away. Lady Anna took charge of the dauphin and hurried him off for his nap. "You were out cold for two days… We were so worried. You're my daughter, christened Natalia Robespierre. Three years ago, you became Queen Natalie of France when you married the king."

"How stands France? The marriage agreement with Austria…" Natalia gasped. _Something was definitely wrong. _

"France is at peace and prospering. The original marriage agreement with Austria was voided by the passing of Princess Maria Antonia of Austria from smallpox. His Majesty is a wise monarch with able advisors like your father, uncle and numerous others in his council. You have helped him much yourself, my child… Ah, don't fret my little one," her mother stroked her hair gently.

"Max?" Natalia asked. Faint memories nagged at her mind like ghosts from another lifetime. _St Petersburg, Vienna, London… Strange places and faces…_

"Your brother is training with the guards. He was appointed Captain of the Imperial Guards in spring," her father replied. "Etienne?" Natalia pressed. Auguste was chafing her arms now with a worried look on his face. Natalia smiled at him to reassure him.

"Your cousin is also training with the guards… He is vice-captain…" a worried Lia replied and felt her daughter's brow. "Shall I send for the doctor?" D'Eon asked. She must be unwell.

The doctor was sent for and a sleeping draught administered. Through her drugged haze, Natalia could only guess at what was real and what was not. Memories she did not, no, should not have, came and went. She saw glimpses of playing on the endless lawn of a fine manor in summer with her twin under the watchful eyes of their parents. Trips to Paris with her uncle, aunt and cousin Etienne. Cousin Etienne was oddly a lot younger than she recalled. Learning the finer arts of a noblewoman under her mother's tutelage while her brother was trained in the knightly arts by their father and uncle. Catching the eye of the young king of France at a royal ball and falling in love. Marriage in the grand cathedral before a cheering crowd. _This was her life, wasn't it?_

The priest took one last look at his victim before closing the door of the crypt behind St Nicholas'. The cold of the night would finish her. There was no need for him to fear. She was too deeply entrenched in the illusion he had woven. This annoyance of a French poet was done meddling in Russia. Among the dusty bones and abandoned coffins, Natalia lay dreaming inside the open casket she had laid down in.

* * *

Far away in Paris, the king had appointed a council of the people to help with the grievances of the populace. The previous year's harvest had failed in many provinces and starvation was rife. Unscrupulous merchants and nobles hoarded grain and the national treasury was sunk in debt from fighting the war in the Americas. Milien grimly shoved one fellow councillor off his master and out the open window. The council discussion had disintegrated into a small riot.

"Hang the king! Off with his head!" some drunk yelled and was promptly silenced by a well-aimed stool, courtesy of a beleaguered Sir Michel. The old noble would tolerate no disrespect to his king. The Duke of Orleans was trying in vain to restore order. Robespierre's vest was torn from the scuffle. The Rolands had retreated, Dr Roland dragging his indignant wife to safety once the fists started flying. Camille was hitting a pompous cleric about the head with a boot.

"Oh, quit that…" Milien restrained his fellow in revolution. "He's just some monk who has not been out of his monastery in years…"

General Lafayette arrived late and was astounded by the chaos. "What's this? A battlefield? This is definitely not the way things were done in the colonies! Order, men!" Milien shook his head. His sister would be disgusted with the way her council turned out. Franklin and his crew probably had more luck running their meetings than they did. _It was_ _something to do with that steely colonist determination._

* * *

"Have I ever left France before, mama?" Natalia asked sleepily. They had brought her out to the gardens in hopes of jogging her memory. "No, my darling child. We have never been outside France… And please remember to use 'we', not 'I'" Lia corrected her daughter patiently. The dauphin was playing with Lady Anna nearby. Anna gently chided her ward for playing in the fountain and getting his clothes wet. It was a lovely summer's day and the roses were all blooming. Natalia loved the gardens.

"St Petersburg… I was born there… while you were on a mission to Russia to meet the Empress Elizaveta…"

"No, you and Maximilien were born in Paris, and both your father and I were never sent outside France on any royal missions… And it is a wise Emperor Pytor who rules Russia. There was never an Empress Elizaveta," Lia replied. "Really, child. Who ever heard of a woman ruling Russia?"

"Isn't Natalia a Russian name?"

"We named you after a distant aunt of your father's. She happened to be a Russian countess. Natalia is a bit odd for a French girl's name, but your father insisted."

"Your Majesty," two guardsmen stepped forward and bowed formally. _Yes, Etienne was the redhead and the blond was her twin._ Then she frowned. _No_. There was something different about Max even though the face was the same. "Max, soon I will be well enough to fence with you," Natalia said. "We'll go riding in the woods…"

The two guardsmen exchanged puzzled looks. "But, Natalie… You never learned to fence or ride," Max said slowly. "You agreed with mama that it was unbecoming for a lady…" Natalia's head swam at his words. The roses were too fragrant and cloying, the sun too hot. She started to gag and choke.

"Shall I send for the doctor?" Lia asked. The queen's distress had not gone unnoticed by the members of the court strolling in the gardens. Some page was sent for the doctor. Ladies were flapping their silken shawls and fanning their fans round her to give her more air. The doctor was by her side again and a draught administered. The last glimpse Natalia caught was of her husband's face as he bent over her stroking her face and calling her name. _Natalie._

* * *

_Did I ever learn to ride or fence before, Max? Am I truly Queen Natalie of France? _His sister's voice was almost a whisper in the hubbub of the council hall. It was still enough to cause Milien to drop the inkpot he was holding out to the general, all over the documents he was about to sign and his white breeches.

"Man! What the hell's wrong with you? Did you crack your head earlier?" Lafayette hollered. Roebspierre groaned audibly. It had taken ages for the council to reach an agreement and draft the document. Now it was all for nought. "Sorry, gentlemen, but I must go…" Milien apologized and ran, leaving behind a bewildered council.

_Lia! _Milien screamed silently. She was not responding. He ran to the alley where he was hoping not to be disturbed. He had no ink with him, so he took out his dagger and sliced open his palm. He scrawled the poems in his blood. She had to hear him. To his dismay, there was only silence.

"I say, young Milien. Whatever are you doing?" Sir William announced his presence. Milien had been so engrossed in his work that he had failed to notice the English poet following him.

"Lia…" Milien gasped. He was desperate. Perhaps a more experienced poet like the English knight might be willing to help. "Calm down, my lad, you have to calm down to reach her. Bleeding yourself dry wouldn't help," Sir William coaxed. He did not understand what was happening, but it did not bode well for both twins. There had to be a balance where the Psalms were concerned. So far, the twins had kept that balance. _Now…_

"Come along…" he pulled Milien into a nearby house. His companion sulked into the shadows the minute he saw Milien. Sir William grinned. "Get our guest some food and drink. You can leave them by the door upstairs if you don't wish to talk…" the knight called out cheerily before ushering Milien up to his rented rooms. A pair of grey eyes watched them disappear up the stairs before hastening off to the kitchen. He wished that Milien did not resemble his twin so much. Seeing him always reminded him of her. He wondered how the French knight and the lady he left behind in St Petersburg were doing.

_Ah well, that was another lifetime ago._ His wife had just delivered triplets from his last visit to England. He needed his pay to keep his growing brood fed. Adding his poor sister's newly-orphaned brood to the mix…

**Author's Notes: **

Natalie is the French form of the Russian name Natalia.

Sir William intends to help Milien. More hints on the whereabouts of a certain English spy.


	69. Chime of Truth

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 69 – Chime of Truth **

The Voronstovs were having a huge argument in their rooms. It ended abruptly with Liza sobbing and running off in the direction of the Prince Alexander's chambers. Liza's cheek was reddened, as if she had been slapped. She was wearing the latest fashion, including those ridiculously tall heels, which she stumbled over and crashed into a vase. Before D'Eon could go help her, the young lady was up on her bare feet, having lost her shoes in the tumble, and running off into her prince's arms. D'Eon watched her go before rapping on the door. He was admitted by a sullen Sasha.

"Has anyone seen Natalia?" D'Eon asked. It was late, too late for her to be out. Early spring nights could be cold in St Petersburg. He wondered if she had gone looking for that priest.

"No," Sir Sergei replied. "Vodka or tea?" he asked D'Eon. There was a smashed plate of pastries on the floor, evidence of the blow-up. Misha was picking up the shards and did not seem to notice that he had cut his fingers. Sergei did. He went over to the young man with a handkerchief. D'Eon helped himself to the tea.

"Tomorrow, the Empress will be presenting the new pages and ladies of the court with their ranks. Would you believe that priest has blessed some medallions to be conferred upon them too? We never had such nonsense in our day," Sir Sergei muttered as he bound up his nephew's hand. "You say that because Her Majesty had you demoted to Master of the Kennels," Sasha quipped. "And she will make it official before the hunt tomorrow."

"Well, it was my fault Liza and His Highness…" Sir Sergei tugged at his moustache. He had allowed it to grow in the garrison to match the Cossack style of whiskers and beards. D'Eon had attempted to grow one too, but shaved it off when the results proved disappointing. Natalia told him frankly that it looked like a caterpillar under his nose.

"It is no one's fault… Look on the bright side, you do have a way with hounds, especially the hunting types," D'Eon said. _Natalia's a grownup now, capable of taking care of herself,_ he chided.

* * *

In Sir William's dimly-lit room, Milien sat nervously on a wooden chair in the centre. Sir William adjusted a full length mirror before him. "Just relax, young Robespierre…" Sir William advised. Milien wondered why the English knight chose to refer to him by that name. _Hadn't he always gone by the name Milien? _There was no time for him to ponder further. His twin was in dire danger. Milien had shed his coat and vest and was now wearing only his shirt and breeches. The English knight methodically lit the candles at the four corners of the room and sketched a chalk circle round him.

"Now, let's start. Think of your sister. Call to her… _In the name of truth and justice, we call out to thee…_" the Englishman started his chant. Milien closed his eyes and allowed the calming words to wash over him. St Petersburg. The ice on the river had not quite melted yet. She was there waiting.

* * *

"How did I hurt myself?" Natalia asked dreamily. She opened her eyes to find herself lying in her bed. Something had changed. It was colder now. Perhaps autumn was coming. "Did I really fall off a horse, Lady Anna?"

"No, your Majesty," Lady Anna replied. "You fainted and bumped your head against a statue in the garden." The cherubic young dauphin climbed onto his mother's bed and into her lap. Natalia hugged the toddler close, taking in the scent of his hair. He smelled like peaches. _Yes, this was_ _where she belonged. _

_No! _A small voice screamed in warning. An unpleasant image popped into her mind. She was in pain and feverish after the difficult labour. Her uncle was apologetically holding her dead infant for her to hold. He was perfect and beautiful, her son, but dead from the long birthing. Natalia moaned and hugged the dauphin closer. The little boy squealed in pain.

"Mama, you're hurting me…" he protested and wriggled free. Natalia stared at the nursemaid. She was young, not much more than the teenaged girl whose portrait graced the wall of the Rochefort mansion.

"What's wrong, Your Majesty?" Lady Anna enquired. Her red hair glinted in the pale light shining through the tall windows. _Lady Anna died many years ago, before Uncle D'Eon could wed her. _Natalia shakily got up despite the nursemaid's protests. "Lady Anna… please take…" Natalia froze. _Her son. What was his name?_ He was stillborn. They would have named him Auguste after his father. Natalia lifted up her skirts, clambered out of bed and ran out into the hall.

The hall was ablaze with its multitude of paintings and mirrors. The de Beaumonts and Robespierres were in the king's favour. Here was a painting of His Majesty presenting medals and honours upon her brother and her uncle. There was a painting of her mother as the king's tutor. Another showed the young king boating in the company of the Robespierre and de Beaumont children while their parents watched on. _No! She never knew her mother or father in life, _Natalia gritted her teeth.

_Lia, wake up! Open your eyes!_ Max's voice shouted urgently.

Pain lanced through her throat. She could not breathe. Her steps faltered. _Blood. _She was bleeding from that old scar. _Yes,_ she was raised alongside her brother by kind foster-parents until that day… The pain was growing worse.

_Why do you fight? Accept this dream. You are queen of all France, beloved by your king and the citizens. Your parents are alive and well. Your uncle is happily married to his betrothed._

* * *

It was the sickly gurgling sound that finally snapped Sir William's impeccable concentration. The young man in the centre of the circle was choking and coughing blood. An ugly red stain had appeared in the centre of his chest. "Robbie!" Sir William shouted, breaking the rhythm of his chant. He needed help. He cursed himself for not bringing along a poet to assist him. The candles guttered alarmingly. Some went out completely.

Robbie hastened into the room, carefully avoiding the chalk marks. "God, what happened?" he cursed softly. Milien's state was alarming. With a sickening cough, he toppled off his chair and onto the floorboards. "Roll him over… looks like he has been shot," Sir William remarked. The wound seemed mortal. The Englishmen exchanged worried glances. The last thing they needed was a dead body, especially that of Master Robespierre's protégé.

_Bad form that… _Milien could make out the hazy figure of his father behind Sir William. The late Maximilien considered his son indifferently. _Do you really have that little faith in her?_ Milien smiled despite the agony tearing up his chest. _Lia will come through._ His sister would come through.

* * *

"Natalie, my love, where are you going?" King Louis XVI asked as Natalia darted past him. "Your Majesty?" Sir D'Eon asked in bewilderment. Natalia paused for a moment and turned to face him. _Blood._ Blood soaking through the back of his coat. They had imprisoned him in the Bastille and subjected him to torture… The memories came flooding back. She turned and ran, ignoring the cries of her family and friends to stop. Her throat was burning with pain.

_If you continue, you will be back in that life, Natalie. You will not be with your husband and child. Your uncle will be suffering and your brother will still be wanted by the crown. You will have no home to call your own… Is that what you want?_ Natalia gasped. She was facing a reflection of herself. Queen Natalie of France smiled at Natalia. Diamonds glinted on her gown and in her powdered wig. A collar of red rubies like the ones she had left behind in France encircled her slender throat. The pain of her wound eased a little.

Natalia hesitated, then took a deep breath despite her ravaged throat.

"I am Natalia de Beaumont! Not Queen Natalie of France!" The reflection shattered into a thousand pieces of glass with a monstrous shriek…

Natalia slowly opened her eyes. She was cold and numb. She forced her frozen limbs to move. Wood encircled her on all sides. A coffin. They had put her in a coffin. Alarm set in. She lurched against the side of her wooden prison and the coffin tipped over, dumping her onto the icy stones of the crypt with a crash. Gasping, she staggered to her feet. _Merci, Max._ It was inky dark. She felt her way around her prison, flinching each time she encountered a corpse or coffin. Finally she chanced upon a candle and flint. Once the candle was lit, she located the stairs that led up to the church. There might be a door she would need to open, but she would figure it out. Robbie had taught her a bit on picking locks and she recalled the old church crypt's lock was rotten to start with.

* * *

The candles finally stopped guttering and a few relit themselves. Milien's breathing had eased, much to the Englishmen's relief. Sir William had torn open Milien's shirt and was surprised to find only a healed scar under all that blood. _That wound should have been fatal the first time…_ the English knight thought. The blood on the man's garments was real enough.

"Mil!" someone crashed uninvited into the room. _Robin and his two cronies._ Sir William could only get his thoughts that far before Robespierre saw Milien lying there. The redhead stormed over and took Sir William by the front of his shirt. "What've you done to him?" Cagliostro and Lorenza lingered at the doorway. Sir William's reputation as a poet preceded him and not even Lorenza was keen to try her poems against his. Robbie slinked off into the shadows. Poet battles never suited him. If Sir Willie and that Italian bitch decide to fight, he did not want to hang around.

"I'm fine, Master," Milien sat up and pulled his ruined shirt close. His father was gone now. His sister was safe. That was all that mattered to him.

"But the blood… and this…" Robespierre swept his arm over the smudged chalk circle.

"I asked Sir William for some help and things did get a bit difficult, but it is alright now…" Milien smiled his winsome smile and the thousand rebukes Robespierre had for his protégé died on his lips. It was impossible for him to be mad at Milien. The young man was like a little brother, no, almost a son to him.

"It was your sister, wasn't it?" Robespierre asked. Milien chose not to reply but picked up his vest and coat. He thanked Sir William politely. His gait was a bit unsteady and his face pale. He had lost a fair bit of blood, after all, but he was alive. His master steadied him with an arm round his shoulder and they left the Englishmen.

* * *

"She's not back yet…" Sir D'Eon fretted. Natalia's bed had not been slept in and there was no sign of her having returned to the palace. In the morning light, the Russian court had gathered at the grand tent set up on the frosty palace lawn for the investiture of the new attendants. All the ladies-in-waiting have gathered and Natalia's absence had not gone unnoticed. The Empress sent a page over to ask about Natalia. Sir Sergei fobbed him off saying that the Lady Natalia was ill with some feminine complaint. The Russian knight was in no mood for lengthy conversation. Liza had shown up hanging onto the arm of her lover. D'Eon had learnt that the young lady had spent the entire night in the prince's chambers and her brothers had given up their sister's virtue as a lost cause despite D'Eon's staunch belief that his student, Prince Alexander, had more morals than to make use of a young woman in her time of need.

Liza was a far cry from the sobbing girl the evening before. She was radiant with happiness. D'Eon had to admit that Liza was beautiful. Her innocent eyes were like a summer's sky and her short curls pure sunshine. The chilly air had put roses in her cheeks. More than one man gave her an admiring glance and more than one lady gave her a look of envy. Alexander escorted her into the royal pavilion despite the angry glare of his grandmother.

"The dogs… We will not need them all." Sergei hissed as he handed some of the leashes to his nephew Misha. It was going to be a bird hunt. Geese and other wildfowl kept in the palace grounds and fattened over winter would be released for the shoot. Sir D'Eon hastened to his task. He was standing in for the Master of the Stables, who had unfortunately caught a bad cold. His job was to ensure that the few horses present were properly attired for the brief ceremony and have them stabled afterwards before the hunt. Someone had let the geese out early and one was perched on a white stallion. D'Eon soon located the culprit.

Tsaresvich Paul was sporting a red nose and staggering despite it being morning. Dismayed footmen were chasing the liberated birds. "To liberty! To liberty!" the crown prince mocked. He roared with laughter when one goose charged into a gaggle of ladies. Father Grigori took him by the arm and whispered something into his ear. The prince quietened down and allowed the priest to lead him indoors. The ceremony was starting.

Two rows formed before the royal pavilion as the Empress rose to her feet and announced the start of the ceremonies. First was a row of young pages, noble-born lads selected for their intelligence and good breeding. Then came the ladies-in-waiting, women who were in their late teens or older, all noted for their poise and wit. D'Eon was reminded of the time he was first knighted by the late King Louis XV at Versailles. Liza twittered with excitement at all the pomp as she hung onto her beloved's arm. One lady-in-waiting pulled away from her sisters as soon as she was conferred. She strode over to the shade of an elm where Sasha waited. D'Eon turned away as the pair kissed passionately.

Then the hunt started. Count Orlov stood beside the Empress, holding her gun. Prince Alexander took his from a waiting page. D'Eon stifled a yawn. He had attended enough hunts to guess at the outcome. The new pages were trying to get the fattened birds aloft for the shoot. A goose waddled before the Empress' gun. Ekaterina stared at the bird and shrugged. Prince Alexander chortled when the goose waddled over to peck at the Empress' skirt. A horrified footman apologised to the royal personages and seized the bird. He disappeared into the bushes with it. When the bird next appeared, it was flapping wildly in the air. The Empress shot it as it whizzed past.

D'Eon peered behind the bushes and saw the makeshift slingshot Sasha and Misha had rigged. Sir Sergei was loading a furious duck into it and Sasha was whispering something about getting it as close to His Highness as possible without smacking him in the face with it.

_D'Eon!_ Lia's voice echoed in his head. _Look to the Empress!_ D'Eon turned. Something had changed. The newly conferred attendant ladies and pages had gone silent. They were waiting for something.

"Sir Sergei, stop!" D'Eon shouted a warning. "The Empress…" he gasped. The slingshot sent the next bird flying.

The duck whizzed past Prince Alexander but the prince was not even aiming at it. Instead, he whipped his rifle around so that the barrel was facing his grandmother. There was a vacant look in his eyes as he coldly trained the rifle on the Empress.

"Alexei!" Ekaterina shouted in shock. Alexander was emotionless as he pressed the trigger. D'Eon tried to push his way through the bushes and slushy mix of mud and frost. He would not be in time… A commotion behind him announced that his Russian colleagues were not going to be of help.

"Sasha! What's gotten into you?" Sir Sergei cursed. Misha was bleeding from a slashed chest. His brother had attacked him. Sergei drove his shoulder into his nephew's chest to knock him to the ground but Sasha did not seem to notice the pain. Sergei cried out in pain as Sasha's dagger struck deep into his shoulder, hitting the bone. Pandemonium broke out as the attendant ladies and pages started attacking their fellow nobles and even the guards.

A loud boom shook frost from the trees. D'Eon smelled the acrid reek of gunpowder… and under it, blood. He was too late.

**Author's Notes:**

Empress Ekaterina is in grave danger. Will D'Eon and Sergei save her?


	70. Summer of Discontent

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 70 - Summer of Discontent**

"Grandma- is she…" her voice was so weak. Her eyes were already glazing over with death. The bodice of her gown was drenched in blood. "Liza! No!" His Highness screamed. The Empress sat sprawled where she had fallen, stunned but otherwise unharmed. Simple Liza had pushed the Empress out of danger and taken the full blast of the shotgun herself. Her injuries were too severe for her to live. The guards and nobles were trying to hold back the seemingly possessed pages and ladies. Understandably, they were reluctant to use force on them as many had their sons and daughters among the throng.

"Protect the Empress and His Highness!" D'Eon shouted in French, then in halting Russian. A crude perimeter of defence was formed._ Gargoyles, they reminded him of those shambling creatures… A poet. There had to be one somewhere near…_ D'Eon glanced about.

Misha half-crawled, half-dragged himself over to the prince and his dying sister. Prince Alexander was sobbing and bleating Liza's name. He recognized his sister was dead. Bravely ignoring his own injuries, he pulled out his dagger and stood guard over the Empress. Sir Sergei roared like a furious bear and threw his nephew bodily into a birch tree, snapping the thin trunk. Sasha did not seem to even feel the impact of hitting the tree. Sir Sergei had gotten stockier since their sojourn with the Cossacks down south but he was a tough a fighter as ever.

"Sasha! Snap out of it, boy!" Sasha only snarled and lashed out at his uncle with his dagger. It was the same all around. Desperate parents called out to their bewitched sons and daughters. Friends and family were mercilessly slain while trying to bring them back to their right minds.

The gargoyles were gaining the upper hand… D'Eon plucked out his own sword and lashed out to hold them back. He did not want to kill them. A young woman screamed in terror and ran away from the knot of defenders. She did not get far. A page seized her bodily and promptly tore her neck open. D'Eon recognized the fallen woman as the one Sasha was with earlier. It occurred to him then. He glanced at Sasha, who was still trying to kill his uncle. The medallion hung around his neck, glowing eerily.

"The medallions! Get those damned medallions away from them and do not harm them!" D'Eon shouted. Sir Sergei caught on to the Frenchman's words. He struck out with his own dagger such that it hooked onto the chain of the medallion round his nephew's neck. With a deft flick, he sent chain and medallion flying away from Sasha. The exhausted young man collapsed onto the ground. The soldiers and nobles were soon following Sergei's example.

Exhausted ladies and pages were brought to their senses to collapse unconscious or fall weeping in shock as medallions were torn from their necks and discarded. The battle was all but over by the time Natalia rode in through the palace gates. It had taken her a while to ride back from the church.

"Natalia!" D'Eon greeted her warmly. "Uncle… I see I am too late… The Empress?" Natalia dismounted from her horse. She soon saw the Empress resting beside a tree. Ekaterina was comforting her grandson as he wept over the pallid corpse of Simple Liza. A young page wailed like a lost child as he stared at his bloodied hands and the lady he had unknowingly slain. Sasha, hobbling more than usual, walked up to the lad and placed a comforting arm round him. Several nobles and guards had been slain by the gargoyles. Many of the bewitched pages and ladies were badly wounded. One had been killed. The grieving mother howled over the mutilated corpse of her son.

"Your sword please, uncle…" Natalia said calmly. D'Eon handed his sword to her. As she took it from him, he noted there was a reddish glow around the blade. "_Why are our fields ravaged by those with no hearts? Deliver us from our enemies. Lord, let them know Thy glory and Thy wrath_," Natalia lifted the sword and struck a blow on a medallion which lay nearby. The resounding clang rang throughout the hunting ground. The medallions all crumbled as if they were made of ashes.

"Father Grigori. He's the poet behind this," Natalia said quietly to the Empress. "Impossible! Father Grigori is a man of God!" the Empress exclaimed in disbelief. "Surely you are mistaken."

"I am not," Natalia replied wearily. She was exhausted by both her ordeal in the church and the long ride back to the palace. The empress reluctantly ordered the priest to be summoned, but Father Grigori had disappeared from the palace. More worrying was the rumours which had sprung up in the imperial court afterwards.

* * *

"They say you're a witch, my lady…" Sergei warned when Natalia and D'Eon came to pay their last respects to poor Liza. The Empress had kindly allowed her grandson to hold the vigil in the royal chapel, an unprecedented honour for a commoner, even if she were the niece of a knight and had saved the Empress. Misha and Sasha were nursing their wounds. Sasha had his arm in a sling after his uncle wrenched his shoulder out of its socket during the fight. Misha's chest was heavily bandaged. He had been lucky that his quick reflexes saved him from further injury. Sir Sergei had his shoulder bandaged. D'Eon's muscles protested from his exertions. He was getting old, he admitted ruefully.

"How is His Highness?" D'Eon asked warily. The prince had been distraught when the servants laid Liza out in her coffin. "Her Majesty insisted that he rest," the Russian knight replied. "He has not eaten nor drunk anything." D'Eon nodded. They all had little appetite after what happened. Still, Natalia had forced strong black tea on them, with a bit of the pastries which had been meant for the luncheon after the hunt. They needed their strength for the night-long vigil.

Liza lay in her coffin with a sheer veil over her face. They had dressed her in a pure white gown and she looked like a sleeping angel. Natalia took her place beside the twins and started praying. D'Eon took out his rosary. He had not gotten past the first Lord's Prayer when the vigil was interrupted by none other than the Tsaresvich, Prince Paul. He stormed into the chapel, clearly drunk and in high spirits.

"The old woman is finally… what is this? Where's she?" Paul balked at the sight of the unfamiliar girl in the coffin. "Where's the Empress?" he spun round and struck the nearest mourner, who happened to be Natalia, across the face. D'Eon swore and leapt to his feet, as did the outraged Cossack twins and Russian knight.

"You seem to be disappointed, Paul, that I am not in that coffin," the Empress observed wryly as she entered the chapel with her entourage. "And what is the meaning of this, turning up drunk at a wake and striking a helpless woman?"

"Helpless woman? Pah, that Frenchwoman is a witch! Like her mother," Paul stormed out of the chapel. The Empress glared after the retreating figure of her son and then at the murmuring entourage. She then turned to Natalia thoughtfully.

"Your Majesty, my niece and my sister are not witches…" D'Eon protested. The Empress nodded. "I understand, Sir D'Eon. It is a pity that such out-dated superstitions should still persist in my court."

* * *

Versailles. Etienne looked up from his work at Milien's approach. He had been shearing, or trying to shear one of the royal sheep on a dare by a little princess. For her amusement, the queen had tried to recreate a rustic Swiss country farm behind Petit Trianon.

"Cut the fat creature's throat, salt the meat and give it all to the poor. The sheep's way too fat…" Milien teased. The young men had settled into an amicable truce. Milien's post as the Duke of Orlean's clerk meant he often accompanied his master to Versailles. His role in the escape of Sir D'Eon had been overlooked. "The wool will be going to the convent to be made into mittens for orphans, Mil," Etienne replied.

"Mittens…" Milien repeated thoughtfully. The dowager queen Mary of England and the French queen Marie Antoinette had struck up a friendship through constant letters. Mary was, after all, an aunt of sorts to Marie Antoinette. Relations between England and France were smooth for now. Marie's mother, the formidable Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, was in failing health and was unable to write and advise her daughter as much she would like. Queen Mary offered both friendship as well as sound advice for any troubles Marie might raise in her letters. It was possible that the donation of wool and sheep cheeses for the orphans was something the English queen had suggested. Queen Marie had tried to involve herself in charitable events, but most were fiascos. The French people disliked her for what they perceived as her frivolous amusements. _Balls, new gowns, jewels and theatre…_ King Louis XVI spoiled his queen immensely catering to her every whim and fancy now that Baronne Natalia was gone.

A brown-haired girl in a fancy frock was perched on a fence nearby watching the poor captain struggle with the sheep. Her hair was done up in ringlets and satin ribbons. "Your Highness Marie Therese," Milien bowed and greeted the child. "Perhaps you should be at your lessons?" He could hear the frantic cries of the hapless governess calling for her missing charge.

"But she is a bore," the princess said haughtily. "She needs to spank you more often," Milien replied. "Mil!" Etienne protested at his friend's bluntness.

"Do you get spanked often?" the princess asked.

"Spanked, kicked and locked up on bread and water… now, if you don't go to your lessons, your Papa might lock you up for being a naughty little girl," Milien teased and tweaked the princess' nose. The princess laughed and ran off to her governess.

"They moved the Council to Versailles so the king could attend, but the Versailles town hall's too small for everyone…" Milien said quietly.

"They don't have that many on the Council." Etienne finally gave up and allowed the half-bare sheep to escape for the pasture. One of Swiss farmers hired by the queen would see to its shearing later.

"Well, once all the royal flatterers and their entourages come, insisting they get the best seats next to the king, the rest of the council are left outside in the cold. Only the duke could get close enough to His Majesty to discuss petitions while the other nobles try to distract King Louis XVI with idle gossip, cake and claret. I mean, what does the _Magic Flute_ have to do with the poor harvest, or the latest wig fashion with the flour shortages?"

"Well, some Parisians are highly uncivilized. Didn't Monsieur Robespierre get tossed out of the window in Paris?"

"Little misunderstanding. Master Robespierre didn't get thrown out. I threw his attacker out. He landed in a dung-pile, so no harm done," Milien corrected. Jean Paul had tried to kill Robespierre but failed to account for both Lorenza and Milien being at hand to rush to his aid. Sir William had been recalled to London again. Milien had caught sight of the man and his servant packing up soon after his little adventure, but he expected them to return.

The food shortages lingered in France well into summer. Taxes were raised, then abolished and levied again. The councillors argued and fought among themselves. Wearied of the endless bickering, King Louis XVI ordered the council back to Paris. He had no wish to preside over such a council. Camille Desmoulins and Madame Roland wrote scathing articles attacking the latest expenses incurred by the queen. Queen Marie Antoinette had lost money at cards and her husband had to settle her debts. And that new gown with the diamonds! How could they have overweight sheep staggering about the queen's farm when children were starving?

* * *

In St Petersburg, D'Eon watched helplessly as his student wasted away. He would read to him from his favourite novels or try to engage him in a discussion. Sir Sergei offered to take the prince riding. Prince Alexander remained melancholic despite their attempts to cheer him up. He kept to his bed and ate little. His health was starting to suffer. Sir Sergei and his nephews volunteered to keep a close guard around the Empress. The Tsaresvich's actions at Liza's wake had roused their suspicions but they had little proof. The rogue poet Father Grigori remained elusive. Natalia searched the streets of St Petersburg with the Cossack twins to no avail.

"You have to get up, Alexei," the Empress coaxed. She had come to visit with Natalia, Sergei and Liza's brothers one night. Her grandson only sank lower into his bedcovers. Tsaresvich Paul had not visited his son. Not that Alexander minded. D'Eon was glad that the belligerent Prince Paul had not disturbed either the Empress or Prince Alexander. The tsaresvich kept to his villa, throwing his parties.

"Forgive me for my rudeness, Your Highness. But fie, such behaviour is not fit for an heir to Russia's crown," Sir Sergei chided. The twins tugged back the bed-curtains when Alex tried to shrink into the shadows at Sir Sergei's harsh words.

"Liza wouldn't have wanted to see you like this…" Natalia said quietly. "She enjoyed listening to you play the piano…"

"But she isn't here to hear me play," Alexander protested tearfully. His cheeks had sunken in from lack of food. He was gaunt in the firelight.

"Play all the same, Your Highness…" Natalia insisted. The prince threw off his blankets. He was so weak from his long stay in bed that D'Eon needed to steady him on his feet. There was a piano in his bedroom. D'Eon helped Alexander to the seat. Alexander lifted his hands hesitantly. Then he started playing. The tears came like rain on the ivory keys. "Let it out, Your Highness…" Natalia took the violin she had brought and started to play a melody to accompany the prince's playing. When they had finished, there was not a dry eye in the room.

"Supper. Have the kitchens bring up some thin porridge for His Highness," Natalia said finally. They had to get the prince fed and back on his feet. Over the next few days, D'Eon watched with relief as Alex steadily improved.

* * *

"Riding? You wish to go riding? That's great news, sire!" Sasha slapped his thigh in glee. It was a warm day and the weak breeze from the river did little to cool the palace. "We will go prepare the horses immediately. A picnic, perhaps?" he added. "Misha could get us a hamper packed in no time." Misha nodded his dark head vigorously. The prince nodded. "Do join us, Lady Natalia, Sir D'Eon…" he extended his invitation to Natalia and her uncle. They had been listening to the prince play the piano in his rooms.

"I'm sorry, I promised Her Majesty to help her with some letters once she is done with the council meeting," D'Eon politely declined. The Empress wanted to raise some concerns about the practices of some French merchants through the French embassy and wanted to ensure that the letters were in order. "Perhaps you could join us later…" Prince Alexander smiled. "The meeting should be over soon. Do ask Sir Sergei to join us too. We will be at the clearing with the silver birch trees."

"Father Grigori, you promised me!" Paul protested as his guest settled in his armchair. "Patience, my tsar," the priest coaxed. "Have you checked her will?"

"Yes, she has not changed it! She intends to put me in a monastery and make Alexander heir. That wretched boy!"

"Hush, my tsar. All will be well. Trust me…" the poet smiled. It was a simple matter to change the will. "Where is she now?"

"At the council meeting… oh, why do you want me to bring you to the stables? How can you get to her when she's got that damned knight and Cossacks about her?"

"Just do what I ask, my tsar and all will be well…"

**Author's Notes: **

More trouble afoot in Russia.


	71. Dark Horsemen

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 71 – Dark Horsemen **

"Lady Natalia? What's the matter?" the prince looked up as Natalia suddenly dropped the flowers she had been picking. They had set up their picnic by the small stream that ran through the clearing. Russian summers were brief and they intended to enjoy the fine weather while it lasted. Natalia had engaged the prince in a discussion about the practice of serfdom in Russia which she did not really approve of. It was a long-standing practice in Russia which the Empress dared not abolish for fear of earning the displeasure of the boyars. Prince Alexander was considering if it were possible for serfs to better their lot by joining the military or through education… Natalia shook her head, trying to clear the feeling of unease. _It was not her imagination. Something was very wrong at the palace. She must go back. _

"Natalia!" Natalia seized Sasha's sabre from his uniform belt and vaulted into the saddle of the nearest horse. She galloped off wildly, leaving a bewildered trio of Sasha, Misha and Prince Alexander behind.

_He was at it again. That damned poet in a cassock… _Natalia silently prayed that she would be in time as she kicked the sides of her horse to spur it onwards. As soon as she reached the palace gardens, she spotted the Tsaresvich Paul sulking off to the palace building like a chastised dog. She turned her steed in the direction from which he had come, the royal stables.

Her uncle was lying on the path before the shut stable doors, out cold and bleeding from the head. There was no time to check whether he still lived. From within the stables came forth the most horrific screams and neighing. The Empress was inside and in danger. She leapt down from the saddle and dashed to the stable doors but they held fast. The screaming was growing weaker. Enraged, she hacked at the door with Sasha's sabre to no avail. _Poems._ She had to use the poems. Taking a deep breath, Natalia started reciting…

Her hands, arms were burning. She was under attack. She sensed Father Grigori was still nearby, reciting his own dark poems against hers. She must act.

"_The Lord brings my soul out of trouble. He cuts of mine enemies, and destroys all them that afflict my soul. In the name of that truth and loyalty, I shall take my vengeance…" _Natalia felt the power of the poems surging through her body. _Where was that false priest?_

_Up there?_ She glanced up into the leaves of a nearby yew tree and threw the sabre into the dense foliage. There was a stricken cry and a large black shape tumbled from its perch with the sabre in his chest. Natalia did not waste any time in retrieving her weapon and coolly cleaved the dying poet's head off his shoulders, ending his miserable life.

* * *

"D'Eon!" Sergei was slapping him across the face. "Wake up! What happened?"

D'Eon sat up groggily and blinked. His head was hurting and he touched it gingerly. It was a nasty cut on his scalp from a glancing blow to his head from a horse's hoof.

"_A picnic? How delightful…" Empress Ekaterina smiled when she learned where her grandson had gone. "Sir D'Eon, prepare a horse for me. We wish to join Prince Alex."_

"_Alone, Your Majesty?"_

"_Of course, D'Eon. It is a family picnic, not some court function. Goodness, what will Alex think if we come with half the court?" _

_He recalled preparing the Empress' favourite horse, a mild-tempered mare. The stable was empty apart from the horses and a weary, old guard dog as the stable boys had gone to attend a fair in town. There should have been a boy on duty but D'Eon supposed he could have left his post for a while. He could saddle a horse with no problem whatsoever. The Empress was seated in her saddle as he led the horse out through the open stable doors. _

"_We wish you were a proper Russian knight, Sir D'Eon… Sir Sergei and you, both of you have done so much for my dear grandson…" Ekaterina leaned over in her saddle and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek before D'Eon could react. _

_Then all hell broke loose. The gentle horse, apparently startled by some sudden movement, reared up and caught D'Eon on the head with a hoof. The Empress just barely managed to hang on to her reins. The last thing D'Eon recalled before darkness claimed him was the horse galloping wildly back into the stables with the Empress screaming away in the saddle. _

"Her Majesty…" D'Eon tried to sit up but was restrained by Sir Sergei. "Don't."

_Still, he had to…_ D'Eon peered over the Russian's shoulders and into the shadowy interior of the stables. There was a dark heapon the ground. D'Eon got up and approached it. The coppery stench of blood saturated the air as he approached. The bloodied fabric looked so much like the Empress' best riding habit… and that lock of greying blond hair. Guards and pages were leading limping horses with bloodied coats out past him. It struck him then. That mangled mess of flesh, bone and rags was the mortal remains of Empress Ekaterina.

He turned his head and retched violently. Sergei thumped him on the back. "Cover her, you moron!" he shouted at a hapless guard. The guard hastened to find a decent piece of cloth to cover the corpse.

"Her Majesty is dead, trampled to death by the horses which had suddenly gone wild…" the Russian knight said quietly. "Your niece, Lady Natalia, has been arrested for the murder of Father Grigori."

* * *

D'Eon spent the next few days on tenterhooks, confined to a guestroom within the palace. There was some confusion about the Empress' will. The proper law of succession demanded that the throne be passed to the Tsaresvich, her heir-apparent, Prince Paul Petrovich Romanov. Rumours among the court circles suggest that Prince Alexander was the selected heir, but the will itself remained elusive. To quash rumours, supporters of Prince Paul had him hastily crowned Tsar in the St Petersburg Cathedral. Misha sneaked a message to D'Eon with his meal informing him that Natalia was held in the convent of St Maria pending her trial and Prince Alexander had been placed under house arrest within his chambers in the Winter Palace. D'Eon had not had any opportunity to meet his former student or his niece.

Natalia and Alexander were not released to attend the funeral, which was held shortly after the coronation in the same cathedral. The ceremony was hasty and surprisingly simple for a person of Empress Ekaterina's standing. The casket was nailed shut. It would not lie in state as the Emperor claimed the summer heat was rotting the corpse. Many of the nobles were unable to attend due to the terrible haste of the funeral. D'Eon was allowed to attend under close guard by the Cossack twins, Sasha and Misha. He was perturbed to see Sir Sergei speaking with the new tsar. The tsar laughed at some remark Sergei made.

"Do you serve me, truly, Sergei Voronstov? You were one of my mother's favourite boyars…"

"I serve Mother Russia, my Tsar and Emperor," Sergei bowed low. He did not even glance at D'Eon or his nephews when they passed.

"What about your two nephews…"

"They are my right and left hands, sire. Like me, they serve Russia and her Tsar," Sergei replied enigmatically.

* * *

_Max, pray for Mother Russia. Tsaresvich Paul is Emperor and I do not know if I can trust Sir Sergei. _Natalia traced the words onto a mirror in her sparsely-furnished cell in the convent. The mirror itself was a luxury allowed to her by the abbess. She did not have to wait long.

_Lia, I will be praying for your return to France. _The words floated onto the mirror's surface. Her reflection shimmered. A faint image of her brother appeared for a moment before it faded away like the morning mist.

_Max… _Natalia tried to reach out to her brother telepathically. He did not reply. Perhaps she was too far away from him, or he was distracted. Sleepy, she blew out her candle and lay down on her cot. She did not sleep. Sir Sergei had no choice but to have her arrested when he found her standing over Father Grigori's corpse all covered with blood and gore with a sabre in hand. At least the precious Book of Psalms was safe with her uncle.

* * *

Milien was indeed distracted. Master Robespierre had been arrested for forgery of certain documents which allowed some of their fellows to escape capture by the authorities. He had been taken to the Bastille where goodness knew what tortures awaited him.

"Calm yourself…" Cagliostro swigged from his hip flask, a common occurrence now. "Robespierre is smart… he'd be out with the help of the Duc d'Orleans…" He was obese and suffered from gout. His complexion was a jaundiced yellow. Years of hard drinking had wrecked his health beyond redemption. Lorenza only kept quiet as she shuffled her stack of tarot cards. She never liked Robespierre, nor his ward.

Milien's mind was in a whirl. He had gotten his uncle out of the Bastille once, but the warden de Janiere would be more wary now. He could not possibly hope to reuse the same ruse. _Could he break into the prison somehow? _He mused and toyed with the notion. From the window of their garret lodgings, he could spy the towers of the Bastille. It was a veritable fortress, the symbol of royal might in Paris. But castles have fallen in the old days under siege. The guards holding the Bastille were not Frenchmen. They were mercenaries brought in from Switzerland. The nobles had sensed the displeasure of the common soldiery and sought to protect themselves with mercenaries.

"_Bon jour,_ Mil, will you be joining us today at the lodge?" Camille called out to him from the street below. His black gelding pranced uneasily, unused to the crowded streets. "The rest of the brothers are waiting to hear you speak…" Camille was accompanied by a lad from his printing house holding the reins of a second horse. The lodge was some distance in the outskirts of Paris.

Milien cringed at Camille's lack of guile. The street was no place to be announcing his sympathies in these uncertain times. There might be many whose loyalties lay with the revolutionaries, but there were still those who were loyal to the crown, like Etienne and Sir Michel. If anything should threaten King Louis XVI, they would gladly lay down their lives to defend his. He hastened to join his friend in the street, pausing for a moment to arm himself with a pistol.

"Jean Paul would be speaking…" Camille handed the reins of the second horse to Milien.

"Since when does that pockmarked Jean Paul attend…" Milien swung himself into the saddle.

"We invited him, Mil. Master Robespierre…"

Master Robespierre must be under some spell to allow that poet to speak before the lodge and the Revolutionary Brethren's leaders. He had to attend, if only to stop that damnable poet from stirring trouble. Lorenza slipped out of the building and flitted up an alley. Milien watched her go. She was probably meeting some lover. He let her go. He did not see her double back. Lorenza peered out from the alley as both Camille and Milien rode off on their black geldings. She lifted the tarot card she had pulled from the stack.

The Tower Card depicted a crumbling tower struck by lightning and aflame. Somehow, the tower reminded her of the Bastille. She shook her head to clear it of the stifling summer heat. There was tension in the air, like a powder keg waiting to explode.

* * *

Someone was rapping at Natalia's door. It was a young nun. She bowed slightly and motioned for the blond noblewoman to follow her. Natalia threw on her cloak over the Russian peasant dress she wore since her arrival at the convent. The nun led her to a side door.

"God go with you…" she whispered in Russian before shoving Natalia out into the night. The nun shut the door in Natalia's face just as hands roughly seized her. A rag was stuffed into her mouth and another tied around her head to keep it in place. It was a moonlit night. The pale moon illuminated the field before the convent enough just for her to make out three horses waiting. Her captors were masked and cloaked. Natalia did note that one of the men walked with a slight limp.

They worked swiftly in silence, binding her wrists and arms and forced her into the saddle. A rope was tied to her ankles, passing under the horse's belly. Thus having secured their captive, the silent pair mounted and led Natalia's steed into the night.

**Author's Notes: **

Father Grigori is out of the story now. Killing a priest (albeit a fake one)? Really, Natalia, you shouldn't get as angry as your mama. A bit of foreboding for the Bastille and the French revolution.


	72. Storming of the Bastille

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Revolution arc coming up.

**Chapter 72 – Storming of the Bastille**

The prince's rooms were near his. D'Eon could hear Prince Alexander playing the piano from his room. The prince practised every day at four. So he knew his student was well for now. He had little news of Natalia since her imprisonment. He had found the Book of Psalms stashed among their clothes when he was preparing some warm garments to be sent to Natalia at the convent. There was no telling how long she was to be held there. The book allowed him to pick it up, but remained firmly shut to him. In the end, no one was sent to him to pick up Natalia's clothes.

D'Eon's window overlooked the courtyard where some carpenters had been hard at work for the past week. This morning, the craftsmen had finished their project, a sturdy gallows. "What now, Lia?" he asked out loud. It was a pleasant surprise when Prince Alexander called on him suddenly. The prince was alone. He had sneaked out of his rooms while his guards were distracted.

"Sir D'Eon, Grandmother, she was murdered," the young man said quietly as he closed the door behind him. D'Eon could only nod.

"Lady Natalia… she dealt with the one who killed her but we're powerless to help her…" Alexander exclaimed. "And Father… he seeks to undo all the good Grandma has done, and brand her an usurper of…"

The door burst open suddenly. The tsar and a troop of guards stormed into the room. Sir Sergei ordered the guards to seize D'Eon. "That bitch was both a usurper and a murderess. We hereby decreed that never again will a mere woman rule Russia," Tsar Paul declared. "Secondly, you, Alex, have not been taught in manner suited to ruling Russia. You will be confined to your rooms until we negotiate a proper marriage for you to produce the next heir to the throne, after which you may live out the rest of your life in a monastery…"

"Your Majesty, we are pleased that you have not decided to name one of your bastards as heir," the prince sniped. He was immediately silenced by a resounding slap from his livid father.

"Your Majesty," Sir Sergei bowed servilely. "Please, do not bother your august self with a wayward child… There are more pressing matters for you to attend to…" the Russian knight gripped Alexander's wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. "Forgive me, Your Highness…" he whispered into the prince's ear. The prince ceased struggling and flopped into a nearby chair, utterly defeated.

"Ah, yes…" Tsar Paul blustered. "We hereby sentence this wretched foreigner to death for misleading the prince… Oh, where is that witch? Why isn't she hanging there?"

"Ah, my tsar, the little harlot has been difficult. I've given her to my boys for their trouble before she hangs…" Sergei smirked. "Perhaps Sir D'Eon would like to join the party before they hang together?"

"You fiend!" D'Eon hissed and lurched at Sergei. The guards held him fast. Sergei did not flinch when D'Eon spat at him.

"Sire, may I request a small boon?" Sergei asked. "What boon might this be? Gold, lands…" the tsar asked in a bored tone.

"An hour or two with de Beaumont before he hangs… I have a blood feud with him, as Your Majesty would understand."

"Weren't you friends?" Prince Alexander blurted out.

"Blood is blood. Revenge is like a fine vintage, sire. You put it aside for ten years, and it is not diminished," Sergei shrugged. "Our loyalty is to Russia first, our blood second."

"He's yours to deal as you see fit, Sir Sergei…" the tsar yawned. Sergei nodded at the guards, who hustled D'Eon out. D'Eon glanced over his shoulder as he was shoved out of the room. Alexander was sitting next to the table on which he had placed the Psalms. The prince had a hand on the book and a thoughtful look on his face.

D'Eon was dragged to an old shed. Sergei shoved him inside the musty room before stepping in after his prisoner and closing the door behind him. The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp. Misha and Sasha were slouched against a wall. Their clothes and hair were ruffled. D'Eon's heart sank when he saw who lay on the pile of straw at the twins' feet. Natalia's hair was tangled. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her dress and face were smeared with muck. _Had they hurt her, or worse_? She opened her blue-green eyes when he called out her name.

"Now, D'Eon, that fine linen shirt you're wearing is in the way of our fun," Sergei toyed with a riding crop. "Will you kindly oblige us by removing both it and your vest? We'd love to hear you scream…" The twins produced a coil of rope.

_Have faith, D'Eon…_ His sister's voice whispered in his ear. _The Psalms will find a way to return to France._

* * *

"Damn that Jean Paul Marat to hell!" Milien shouted over the din. The powder keg that was Paris had finally ignited. Jean Paul had managed to stir the embers of discontent into open flames if revolt.

Rumours were spreading of how the king and queen had mocked the French tricolour and dismissed several of the assembly from Versailles when they sought to put forward their petitions. The queen had declared, _"Let them eat cake!"_ when informed of the bread shortages plaguing Paris. The royal children, the dauphin and his sister, were spoiled to excesses by their parents and the court. That was true, both prince and princess were pampered by their parents, in the way all royal children were pampered. The dauphin certainly did not ride General Lafayette like a pony before his regiment because the general had not even been in the presence of the dauphin. Prince Louis Charles was a sickly boy coddled by his many nursemaids.

_Perhaps they mistook the princess for the dauphin…_ Camille teased when Milien pointed out the impossibility of that. The princess was a feisty little lady. Now Camille was trying his hardest to set up a barricade against the German mercenaries hired to guard Paris. Even the women and children had joined in the riot. Milien thought he caught a glimpse of Camille's wife and daughter among the women assisting the Rolands. Doctor Roland and Madame Roland tended to the wounded in the Defarges' tavern.

Enraged by allegations of the royals' excesses, the citizens of Paris have taken to the streets and besieged the bastion of imperial power, the Bastille. Fires blazed where establishments and homes of those known for their pro-royal sympathies were looted and razed. Francois Tussad and his wife had to defend their home with buckets of water because of Annemarie's connection to the court. The blaze was swiftly extinguished. No one really thought of looting the Tussads as they had precious little to steal.

A German soldier caught away from his comrades was hastily hung from the bridge by the mob. The famous dressmaker's that tailored the most exquisite ball gowns was set aflame. An armoury had been breached and the rioters had cannons to use against the Bastille. Milien feared that the prison would burn with his mentor trapped within. Some of the French soldiers had aligned themselves with the Parisians and were wheeling their cannons through the streets. Milien thought he caught a glimpse of General Lafayette trying to reason with his men and urge for calm. He clearly failed to persuade them.

* * *

_It has happened._ Robespierre was calm as he listened to the roar of the mob outside his prison. _Just as the Psalms foretold, or had they brought this about?_ His cellmate, another forger was praying fervently. The mob might burn down the Bastille with them in their cells. Robespierre was past caring. He smiled wanly when he recalled how Teillagory had once warned D'Eon with the prison for expressing his displeasure at Louis XV's indifference with regards to Lia's mysterious death and the gargoyles in Paris then.

A cannonball scored a hit on the walls of the fortress. His cellmate whimpered and cowered in a corner. Robespierre only got up and rested his elbow against the ledge of their barred window. He could see smoke billowing from where the city burnt. The mob was baying for blood. _What would Sir Durand or Teillagory make of this? What would Sir D'Eon make of this?_ For a moment, Robespierre was thankful Queen Marie and Lady Anna were not here to see this.

* * *

Summer in St Petersburg is famous for its long days. The sun was still up even though the hour was late. Prince Alexander had been brought out to witness the execution. Tsar Paul yawned and motioned for a page to fan him more vigorously. The prince was pale when the Cossacks escorted the condemned pair up the gallows. D'Eon wore a bloodied peasant's smock over his breeches. He was barely able to stand and his face was smeared with blood. Natalia's hair was dishevelled and her dress muddied. She looked wan and weak as she plodded behind her uncle. Like her uncle, her hands were tied behind her back. Alexander was outraged and had to be physically restrained by the guards accompanying him. He seemed to eager to blurt out something but he bit his lip and kept silent.

It took all of D'Eon's self-control and strength to mount those steps without stumbling. They had a pair of nooses swinging from a sturdy beam. There was no trapdoor. They would be shoved over the edge of the gallows, a good five foot drop. The force of the stop would break their necks. A black-clad priest waited to administer the last rites. He said the prayers in Russian so thickly accented that D'Eon could not make out the words. Sergei sent the man off with a rouble for his pains. The tsar was getting impatient. The hanging must go on.

"Goodbye, friend," the Russian knight grinned broadly as he slipped the black hood over D'Eon's head as Misha silently did the same for Natalia. D'Eon felt the weight of the rope resting on his shoulders as someone fussed about the knot. He heard Natalia's weak gasp and the creak of the rope as she was shoved off the platform. There was a weak rustling of cloth and the tsar cheering at her death throes. Then his boots were scrambling for solid ground. He had been shoved off the platform. The rope tightened and bit into his flesh. Pain jarred through his body, then blessed oblivion.

* * *

The mob roared triumphantly when the great gates of the Bastille finally gave. The rioters stormed into the prison yard. The few defenders were swiftly overwhelmed. The warden, de Janiere was set upon by the crowd. His head was cut off and raised atop a pike amidst cheers from the mob. Robespierre looked away from the window. A fire had been started by the mob in the yard and was growing. He wondered if the flames would reach them before the mob. The shouts were growing nearer. His cellmate screamed when their cell door was battered down. At the sight of the wild-looking man entering, Robespierre's cellmate fled out of the cell. Their liberator was not interested in the fleeing man.

"You're safe, Master," the relief in Milien's voice was apparent, as was the grin on his face. His protégé's face was smeared with soot from the fires and dirt from the streets. He embraced his master warmly.

Robespierre glanced at the sword Milien had in his hand. It was wet with blood. Milien shrugged. "The spark has been set, master. Jean Paul has caused this riot and now that the Bastille has fallen, things will change in France. The king can no longer ignore the voice of the people."

"But the Psalms…"

"They will find a way to return to France. Before the year is out, the Psalms will be here in Paris…" The flippant tone of Milien's words irked Robespierre. They had to get out of the prison before it burned to the ground.

* * *

Once D'Eon and Natalia had gone limp and stopped struggling, their bodies were hastily cut down. The Emperor was satisfied when Sir Sergei pronounced both prisoners dead. The Emperor then warned His Highness that the gallows awaited any who dared to defy the Emperor's will. He then ordered his son, Prince Alexander, to be confined to his rooms in the palace. The burial and disposal of the bodies were left to the Russian knight. A filthy sheet was thrown over the corpses.

Sir Sergei and his nephews followed in silence as they trundled along beside the cart they had tossed the bodies on. Sasha stumbled, jarring the cart. Sergei saw a hand sticking out from under the sheet. It twitched slightly. "Just a little while longer…" he whispered as he tucked the hand under the sheet. The morgue was just a few yards away now. Misha reached under the sheet and yanked off both the hoods which hid the prisoners' death agonies from the spectators. His eyes met his brother's and then his uncle's. That glance told both all they needed to know.

**Author's Notes:**

Is this the end of the road for D'Eon and Natalia, betrayed by Sir Sergei? Are the Psalms stuck in Russia?


	73. An Assassination

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

D'Eon and Natalia are still alive.

**Chapter 73 – An Assassination **

D'Eon wondered if he had died and was in Heaven. Someone was brushing the hair from his face. He felt warm and peaceful. Slowly, he opened his eyes. "Lia?" the young woman tending to him was blond-haired. The dark-haired man whose back faced him could be Durand.

"Uncle, you're awake." The illusion was swiftly shattered by Natalia's voice and the entry of Sergei Voronstov. It was Natalia at his side and Sasha, not Durand, who sat across the room. The young Cossack hopped to his feet with the aid of his crutch to salute his uncle. His twin did the same from where he had been sitting in the shadows. D'Eon realised he was lying in some crypt on a stone bench covered with furs. He had a bearskin over his body against the cold.

"His Majesty bought it. Now, steady… you broke a rib in the fall…" Sergei warned when D'Eon tried to sit up. The pain in his side was excruciating. Sergei had planned their 'deaths', going to the extent of befuddling D'Eon and his niece with certain herbs to mimic death. Sergei had little faith in D'Eon's acting. The harnesses the twins had tied for the pair under the bulky peasant garb saved their necks from breaking during the hanging. Pig's blood, from a pig's bladder hidden in the shed, faked the marks of torture. It was a close call when that soldier accidently groped Natalia's breast. If she had called out or he had discovered the harness, all would have been lost. God Himself and Lady Luck must have smiled on their charade.

"How's His Highness?" D'Eon asked after his student.

"His Majesty is sending out envoys to negotiate a suitable marriage for him. Failing which, he has a number of bastard sons he might make his heir. For now, Prince Alexander is confined to his rooms waited upon by a babushka and loyal Cossack guards," Sergei said.

"There are no old women attending to His Highness," D'Eon frowned. He did not like the grins the twins were exchanging behind their uncle's back, or that Natalia was looking away from him. The Emperor had been very selective in assigning servants to his son, but Sergei might be able to put forward a few names.

Sergei tossed a bundle at D'Eon. It contained a dress, shawl and apron. "Get dressed. His Imperial Majesty will never expect you to be alive and in the same palace as him," Sergei replied curtly. "His Highness, against my better judgement, requests your presence about his person." Natalia was presented with a Cossack guard's uniform.

* * *

The Emperor had left the palace by the time D'Eon and Natalia were brought into the Tsaresvich's presence. Prince Alexander looked much older than his years. D'Eon noticed that he had in his lap the Book of Psalms Natalia had brought from France so long ago. It was open and Cyrillic letters adorned the page the young man was poring over. Suddenly aware of his visitors, the prince shut the book. The book had revealed something of utmost importance to him. D'Eon's knowledge of the Cyrillic alphabet was scatty at best and he had only glimpsed the letters for a second, still Natalia, beside him, let loose a quiet gasp.

"Lady Natalia, tell me truthfully… Will the events stated in this tome come to pass?" Alexander's voice was mournful. If he was surprised by the disguises they had donned, he did not show it.

"Indeed, sire," Natalia dropped a bow. She had cropped her hair short as Cossacks did not keep their tresses long. With her bosom bound with bandages under her uniform, she could be another of the many guards who worked on the grounds. "The events stated will come to pass, whether we wish them…"

Alexander lifted the tome and tossed it towards the blazing fire but D'Eon was quicker. Unhampered by the feminine dress forced on him, the French knight seized the offending book before the flames did. He remembered what had happened to King Louis XV when he tried to deny the Psalms. The sudden movement brought back the pain in his side and sent him to his knees.

"We consider you our friends," Alexander was by his side, helping him up. "It seems that within a given span of years, our nations will be at war… we do not wish that…"

"N-neither do we…" D'Eon gasped.

"It will be a war unlike any other. The enemy will be mighty and come into the grand city of Moscow, sweeping aside all in their path… Russia cannot win this war unless…" Alexander looked away.

"Mother Russia needs a wise leader, a strong leader…" Sergei was on his knee now, beseeching the prince. There was flash of acknowledgement between the Russian prince and his knight. "The gallows still stands, Sir Sergei. We need to consider our plan…" Alexander turned away. "For now our French guests must be made comfortable while we… make other plans…" Distracted, the prince walked over to the piano and toyed with the keys.

"Stay with the prince, Sir D'Eon, Lady Natalia… and guard him well with us. The future of Russia may rest on his shoulders…" Sergei hissed.

"Your Highness, if the events stated come to pass, rest assured that you will never have to lift your sword against a friend," Natalia called out to the prince. She had wrest the book from D'Eon's hand and it was now open in her lap. The Cyrillic letters shimmered before fading into the empty page.

* * *

The events of the days following the Bastille's fall were a blur. Camille's printing press run non-stop until it finally broke. Jean Paul was out in the streets inciting more riots. Robespierre and his colleagues rode to the gates of Versailles to petition the king for more reforms. Startled by the turn of events, the king was eager to make peace with the Council, but some nobles were urging the use of force against the rioters. Fighting broke out sporadically between the different fractions.

The elderly Dr Roland's heart finally gave up under the constant influx of wounded and the merciless heat of the Parisian summer. A newly widowed Madame Roland was forced to leave the city with her husband's coffin.

"Etienne!" Milien called out to his friend when he saw the Rocheforts in the street. The nobles, easily identified by their fine clothes, were being pelted with stones by a mob of raggedly children.

"Don't speak to me…" Etienne snapped. He looked hassled. The death of his father had hit hard. The young captain was pale and his eyes sported dark rings. "Sir Michel, you should go with the Duchess…" the redhead urged his foster-father. Sir Michel was fumbling with his watch. Age had rendered his fingers stiff. Etienne took from him and wound it up.

The passions of the mob had not been fully sated by the explosion of rioting which happened in Paris. The feelings simmered like a pot on a stove. The unrest had yet to reach Versailles but there were rumours of peasants rising against their masters in the provinces. Many of the nobles had made plans to flee for safety. The Duchess of Orleans and her son would be among them. They said she had pleaded with the Duke to join them in their flight but the duke was adamant on staying.

They said that even in the peaceful oasis of Versailles, unease had forced a good many nobles to resign their posts. The royal governess had begged the queen to be allowed to join her fleeing husband and children. Queen Marie Antoinette had reluctantly agreed and appointed a mere lady-in-waiting as a replacement to tutor her children. In his direst hour, many nobles had abandoned their king. King Louis XVI was at a loss dealing with the Council. _How should he address them? What was the protocol?_ So he sought refuge with his family cloistered away from the demands of his kingly offices.

* * *

In Russia, it was a good fortnight before Sergei and his nephews next called on them. In the meanwhile, D'Eon, despite his injury, guarded the prince alongside Natalia. All meals were studiously tested for poisons as far as possible, lest someone thought to harm the prince. Natalia took to smuggling food in from outside the palace. The forced confinement left Alexander restless. He tried to while his time reading, playing the piano, or fencing with Natalia. Sometimes, D'Eon would see Alexander take Natalia aside to speak to her. D'Eon guessed it was about the Psalms or whatever plan Alexander had hatched with Sergei. The dress did cause him some annoyance but it was nothing compared to his time as Princess Sophie's lady-in-waiting. Russian babushkas did not wear corsets. He did need to be careful about his words though as his French accent would give him away.

"Your Highness, it is with great regret that I must announce that we are here to murder you on the orders of His Imperial Majesty," Sir Sergei said point-blank as he bowed. "His Majesty has wed the Countess Vasilinova and she is expecting his child. Emperor Paul is certain it will be a male child…"

"And his heir," Alexander finished. D'Eon and Natalia placed themselves on both sides of the tsaresvich. They were outnumbered by the six other Cossacks besides Misha and Sasha who stood behind Sergei. The Russian knight held out a letter with the royal seal for their inspection.

"_The bearer of this letter did what he did for the greater good of Mother Russia… by order of the Tsar and Emperor…"_ Natalia translated the letter for D'Eon's benefit. Alexander did not seem perturbed by the prospect of imminent death.

"Do you believe you will escape unscathed from this, Sir Sergei? They have yet to dismantle the gallows…" D'Eon protested. He could not let them harm his student.

"The tsar is at liberty to send me to the gallows or Siberia…" Sergei replied calmly as he took hold of the hilt of his sabre.

"Do what must be done for Mother Russia!" Alexander fearlessly stepped forward, at the same time holding out an arm to restrain Natalia from drawing her rapier. The prince thrust his chest forward as if offering the knight a clear target for his sword. Instead of drawing his sword, Sergei turned to face his Cossacks.

"Gentlemen, we do this for Mother Russia. Not for honour, nor glory… After this night, our names may be cursed as traitors, thus I ask you, are you with me? Pavlov Nikolavich? Vasiliy Petrovich…" Sergei worked his way through the names. Each name was greeted with an affirmative nod or 'yes' from its owner. Finally he came to his nephews.

"Mikhail Dimitrivich, Akesander Dimitrivich… Are you with us?"

Misha and Sasha replied with curt nods. Their eyes blazed with conviction in their uncle's ideals. _Yes, even if they had to go through Hell, they were in this._ The troop of Cossacks turned on their heels and made for the door.

"Wait!" D'Eon called out.

"_Tovarich_, it is best if you remain here. This does not concern France…" Sergei advised. The door shut behind them. A sense of foreboding washed over D'Eon at their departure.

Alexander took his seat before the piano and started playing a Russian folk melody. Natalia took up a nearby violin as accompaniment to the prince's playing. D'Eon sat down and listened to the melody.

Above their heads was the Emperor's study. D'Eon tried not to hear the crashing in of the study door, the hoarse shouts and thuds of running feet. Things were being thrown about. The shouts turned into screams and then moans of agony. He knew in his heart what was going on above. He wondered if the prince was trying to drown out the dying screams of his father.

The clock chimed the hour and the Cossacks knocked at their door before entering.

"It is done, Your Majesty…" Sergei announced as he knelt. D'Eon saw that there were splashes of blood on his uniform. Sasha was wiping a streak of blood off his face. No doubt the blood belonged to Emperor Paul of Russia who had been assassinated in the study above them.

"The law demands that we hang you, each and every one of you. Yet we have given you our blessings on this venture, and we do need your experience and guidance… especially in matters of the army and diplomacy…" the prince smiled and deliberately shut the piano lid onto the fingers of his left hand.

"Your Highness!" D'Eon and Natalia rushed to his aid. Alexander was smiling in spite of blinking tears of pain, or perhaps sadness, from his eyes. He had broken his little and ring fingers and severely bruised the other two. Gasps of dismay issued forth from the Cossacks.

"No time for childish tantrums and games, sire. Time to grow up and rule…" Sergei chided the prince as he held up the wounded hand for a closer examination. Natalia bound up the wounded fingers the best she could while D'Eon sent someone for a doctor. The prince did not cry out when they straightened out the fingers for the doctor to splint.

"You cannot stay, Sir D'Eon, Natalia…" Alexander said quietly to D'Eon and Natalia when the Cossacks had gone. "As much as you have done for both Grandmama and us… Sir Sergei will prepare horses and enough funds for your journey back to France or to England."

**Author's Notes:**

Natalia and D'Eon will be heading back to France.

Historical fact – Emperor Paul of Russia was murdered by his own nobles. His son, Prince Alexander, was under the same roof at the time of the assassination and the murderers informed him of his father's demise after they are done killing him after he refused to abdicate in favour of his son.

Napoleon Bonaparte and his Grande Armee invaded Russia, reaching as far as Moscow in 1812 before being driven back by the brutal Russian winter.


	74. Revolutionary Fires

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Start of the Revolution arc.

**Chapter 74 – Revolution Fires **

D'Eon's first instinct was to return to France. Then he recalled the manner in which he had been forced to leave France. If he returned, Natalia and her twin might be imprisoned for their role in his escape. England was his next choice. After all, they did have friends there, if only they could get the exile order on D'Eon lifted. Sir Sergei suggested approaching the English embassy for assistance. A generous bribe might get them a letter of good conduct to get them onto English soil. As much as they wanted D'Eon and Natalia to remain in Russia, whatever their now-Tsar, Emperor Alexander foresaw in the Psalms did not bode well for any French citizen on Russian soil.

Sergei had the bulk of the de Beaumonts' belongings put on board a ship headed for England and addressed to Sir William Wordsworth at his London Lodge. They needed to take to the sea before the winter storms blew in. Trouble with a difficult official at the embassy meant that the letter for their passage was not approved until after the vessel sailed. Their Russian friend offered them lodgings at his place in St Petersburg until the next ship to England sailed.

"We should return to France, Uncle," Natalia would stubbornly insist even as D'Eon made plans for their future lives in England. He would take a leaf from Sir William and invest in some business. Perhaps write a book, or set himself up as a French teacher. Natalia could enter society, passing herself off as a widow, and perhaps marry a loving man of good character. Lia's daughter deserved so much more than what he had to offer her.

It was the news of the storming of the Bastille, brought by the sudden influx of French noble refugees that set D'Eon's mind on returning to France.

_You can't turn your back on your homeland, can you?_ Lia's voice chided in the back of his head as he listened to the tales the nobles told. One name was mentioned more than once. _Maximilien Robespierre._ The Bastille's fall had undermined whatever confidence the middle-class had in their king. They now turned to the Council. Robin had somehow emerged from the chaos as the spokesperson of the Council, challenging the nobility and the clergy at every turn. The balance had shifted and dangerously so. And young Max was in the midst of it all.

Their minds set, D'Eon and Natalia approached their Cossack hosts for assistance in acquiring a pair of horses. They would travel light and as fast as their horses would allow them. Natalia donned the garments of a boy for her own safety on the road. They would be armed with both firearms, swords and daggers. The swords were a gift from Sir Sergei.

It was a crisp autumn day when they finally set off after exchanging heartfelt hugs and farewells with their Russian friends. Tsar Alexander had been unable to see them off due to his having to be in Moscow for his imperial duties. He did however, have Sir Sergei provide them with the necessary funds for their travel. "God watch and keep you, D'Eon,_ tovarich_…Know that I consider you our blood-brother," Sergei engulfed D'Eon in a bear-hug and kissed him on both cheeks. The knight blinked away tears from his dark eyes.

The pair travelled at a steady pace to allow their horses rest. They did not want to wear out the beasts since they were uncertain if they could get replacements en route. They slept at modest wayside inns, and on occasion in barns or churches. Still, they made good time and were soon in Cologne, where they encountered an unexpected face.

"Sir D'Eon, Sir de Beaumont, is that you?" a voice called out in French as they were tying up their horses. D'Eon and Natalia turned. A finely-dressed lady was approaching them from across the street. It was the Duchess of Orleans. She was accompanied by a servant woman and a youngster who had a striking resemblance to the Duke, possibly her son. "And this is…"

"Nat, madam," Natalia bowed solemnly. She was dressed as a boy and decided to pass herself as a boy. "We're headed for Paris…"

"Are you headed for France? God forbid! France is in turmoil… oh-oh! My poor husband! I would rather he be with us…" the poor duchess was in state of near-hysterics.

"Perhaps it is best if Madame rests a while…" D'Eon gently caught the distraught noblewoman before she fell in a swoon. They ended up spending the night at the duchess' rented apartments and leaving in the morning. Once she had calmed herself, the duchess informed the pair of the changes in France since they were last there. The news worried D'Eon. No one had ever dared question the authority of the monarch so openly in France. King Louis XVI walked a precarious line between the nobles and the populace. D'Eon recalled Yvette and the revolutionaries who haunted the coffeehouses in Paris. With Yvette he had learnt to see matters from the viewpoint of the common people. France needed a steady hand at the helm, but King Louis was weak and easily swayed. The people were losing their trust in him and the monarchy even though the King was still respected and loved. The tide could turn at any time. The Duchess knew that and feared what could happen if the people should rise against the king and the nobles. The storming of the Bastille was only the opening salvo.

It was in a sombre mood that they took to the road in the morning. "What will happen, will happen, Uncle D'Eon. Things cannot stay as they were in France…" Natalia said as she dug her heels into her horse's flank to spur it on. D'Eon smiled grimly. The revolution in the Colonies was bloody, the relations between England and her now independent colonies strained. Yet the former colonies were said to be prospering.

* * *

In Paris, unrest was simmering even in the cool autumn air. Milien sketched away. Master Robespierre was away in Versailles, attending the council meetings in the town outside the palace. The Defarges' tavern was a hotbed of revolutionary activity, when the said revolutionaries were not blind drunk. He glared balefully at Cagliostro. The alchemist was not long for this world. His skin was a jaundiced yellow and Milien was certain his mind was long eaten by cheap drink. Now, he was slumped over a table. Lorenza was another matter. She had long lost her good looks and could pass for any one of the fishwives outside. Still, she was a poet.

"Lorenza, do you think any good will come out of this?"

"It is the will of the Psalms, is it not, young Robespierre?" Lorenza replied mockingly. Without a word, Milien showed what he had been sketching. Lorenza paled. He had sketched a guillotine with King Louis XVI 's severed head being held aloft by a revolutionary, Master Robespierre. _There would be more bloodshed…_

"Damn you, Mil! You're a proper traitor!" Etienne cursed as he staggered in and saw the sketch. He launched a punch at Milien, who promptly ducked. It was unlike Etienne to take refuge in a humble place like the Defarges' but times had changed. Many of the well-to-do had abandoned their businesses and homes and fled Paris. Most of the businesses known to support the royalty and nobility had shut their doors. It was lucky Etienne had worn the clothes of a commoner instead of his uniform or the finery of his station. The rabble gathered at the tavern would have no qualms turning on him.

"Stand and fight, you cur…" Etienne yelled. Milien grinned and threw a sharp jab to the redhead's jaw. Lorenza scurried out of the way as the pair started wrestling and punching amidst cheers from the other customers. The brawl ended when the tavern keeper seized them by the collars and tossed them out into the street.

"_Merci,_ Etienne, I needed that…" Milien chuckled and rubbed his bruised jaw.

"I should kill you as a traitor, Mil…" Etienne whined.

A knot of market women had gathered in the square before the tavern. A skinny man with a pockmarked face was addressing them. Jean Paul. Things had not changed as much or as fast as the people hoped. Bread shortages still persisted. Harvests were still poor. There were still rumours about the nobles' excesses. Etienne frowned when he overheard Jean Paul criticizing the opulence of the palace at Versailles. "It was built by King Louis XIV, his grandfather…" Etienne protested softly.

"Jean Paul is a bloody liar," Milien shrugged. Inside, he was uneasy. He tried to concentrate. _The poems._ Jean Paul was not using them today. They were lucky, for now. He was not keen on another riot. "Let's get you back home without getting killed. Sir Michel would hate that," Milien urged. Etienne made as if to complain but thought the better of it.

"What do you hope to achieve, Mil?" the redhead asked as they left the poor neighbourhoods for the now deserted high street with their now boarded-up shops.

"Fraternity, liberty and equality…" Milien parroted. "What is the difference between a noble and a peasant but for the accident of their birth? You have served His Majesty… Tell me honestly. Does Louis Auguste have the wisdom and strength in him to rule?"

"H-his Majesty is a kind man, blessed by God… Damn, this is treasonous!" Etienne protested. "France always had a king and the king is in God's Grace…"

"A kind fool he is then," Milien shook his head. The captain's reply only confirmed what he always suspected. The king needed sound counsel to rule well. Yet he had turned a deaf ear to the wise counsel of the Duke of Orleans to please certain nobles lest they flee France. Those nobles would not stay long. _Master Robespierre, did he wish to do away with the monarchy, or did he wish to provide counsel?_ Milien could sense his sister approaching, with the Psalms.

* * *

Robespierre and the duke waited patiently for the king outside the king's study. Perhaps he would receive them, or perhaps not. Robin the page had waited here on many occasions, waiting for Queen Marie as she spoke with her husband. A weary Sir Michel stepped out from the king's study and shook his head. King Louis XVI would not grant them an audience.

"The king hides in his rooms at Versailles like a scared child behind his nurse's skirts!" Robespierre hissed under his breath in frustration. He should have expected this of Auguste. Even as a child, he was timid and easily scared. When confronted with an unfamiliar situation, he would seek out the safety of his nurses and attendants. _Yes, he was an awkward child, who loved the company of the select few he trusted, among them, a certain young pageboy in his mother's service. _

"You speak both boldly and truthfully," the duke nodded. "He does not know what to make of this change. He clings to the old ways in a world that is changing. It is not the world of Louis XIV or even Louis XV. Yet we must try to guide him…"

_Will you guide Auguste, Robin?_ Robespierre paused before a portrait of the late Queen Marie, Auguste's mother. "We must try, Your Excellency," he said. "The people are discontent. If things continue thus…" France could be engulfed in the flames of the revolution. The duke nodded but did not speak.

* * *

"Uncle?" Natalia called out softly. D'Eon cursed under his breath. He thought she was asleep. He hurriedly pulled on his breeches before turning to face her. It was awkward having to share a room. They had returned to France and were sheltering at a roadside inn. They had encountered more fleeing nobles along the way.

"We should head for Versailles instead of Paris," Natalia said solemnly. "I have to see him…"

"His Majesty?" D'Eon's heart clenched. Natalia still had feelings for Auguste. "You need not come along, Uncle. You could go to Paris, alone… just be careful…" Natalia looked down. For a moment, she was so much like a scared little girl.

"Nonsense, Natalia," D'Eon replied. He walked over to her and kissed her on the brow fondly. "I'll go with you…"

"I wished Auguste's son lived…" There was a hint of a sob in her voice. "My little one is with the angels, isn't he?"

"Of course, Natalia…" D'Eon stroked her pale golden hair. She hugged him in a way she had not done since she was a child seeking comfort and reassurance from her uncle. D'Eon held her for a while, watching the sky outside the window pale with dawn coming. Finally, she pulled away from him.

"I-I'll get dressed… for breakfast…" Natalia said. She blinked her blue-green eyes, wiping away any remaining tears. D'Eon nodded and hastened out of the room to allow Natalia some privacy. They would have breakfast in the tavern downstairs and leave for Versailles. With luck, they would make it by midday.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon and Natalia are back in France, but Robin/ Robespierre is unable to give much needed advice to the king and the citizens of Paris are getting very unhappy.

Next act – Angry mob marching onto Versailles. Serious. The Women's March onto Versailles did happen in the same year after the Bastille was stormed.


	75. March of the Women

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 75 – March of the Women **

"Enough is enough! We're marching on Versailles to demand an audience with the king! We cannot allow him to hide away in his palace!" It could have been Madame Defarge. Or it could have been the newly widowed Madame Roland. Or it might even have been Jean Paul quietly pulling their strings but it was an angry mob of market-women who led the march onto Versailles. Their menfolk, and soldiers from the Parisian garrisons brought up the rear.

"Lorenza!" Milien yelled when Camille brought him the news. Camille intended to ride ahead to warn the People's Council, currently quartered in the town outside the palace. Things were spiralling out of control faster than he could imagine. And his sister was not there yet.

Bursting into the room shared by Cagliostro and the female poet, he tripped over the unconscious form of Cagliostro. The drunk was lying on the floor in his own vomit. He paused to feel for a pulse. The drunk was alive, but barely. He had no time to attend to him. Instead, he yelled for the innkeeper to fetch a doctor and plonked a suitable amount of coins on the table.

On the table he found a letter written in Italian. He cursed as he scanned through the contents. Lorenza had wearied of tagging along with her drunken husband and a pair of revolutionaries. She had flown for greener pastures elsewhere. Milien was still cursing her when he took to the streets on foot. Surprisingly, he found her easily enough. She was trying to get the attention of passing carriages but their drivers were more concerned with getting their beasts and means of livelihood away from the city before any rioting started.

"Lorenza! Do you intend to leave like this?" Milien caught her by the shoulder and shook her. His chest ached from running. "Do you intend to leave us just as the revolution is coming? Don't you want to see it through?"

Lorenza glared fiercely at him and spat on the cobblestones. "This is no fairy tale, boy. Do you think with your precious master Robespierre in charge, things will be better?"

"You've been with us for so long…" Milien gasped.

"It was for the other Robespierre. Your father…" her eyes softened a bit and the bitter edge left her voice. She cupped his cheek. "You look a bit like him at times, but mostly, you resemble your mother. A pity you did not know him… He is not coming back, is he? His spirit… No, you are not him."

"You loved him and he did not love you," Milien stated matter-of-factly. Lorenza nodded. She had aged much in the past year, worn down by the constant strain of caring for Cagliostro, on top of unfriendly poets such as Jean Paul.

"I was a naïve girl then, married to that impotent drunk and fake alchemist. We worked for the Comte de St Germaine and your father… Revolution? Change? I am very tired, Maximilien. Maybe now that I am older and wiser, I only wish for a quiet peaceful life, preferably where I was born and bred. Do you wish to take these poems back? Those that were given to me by your father. You took some from me once… that day when you were shot… With luck, I have little use for them where I am headed…"

Milien nodded. They were running out of time. He noticed that she did not ask after Cagliostro. He forced himself to control his breathing as he took her hands in his. Almost immediately, he could sense the poems flowing away from Lorenza and into his body. It was a heavy weight, much heavier than he expected. When he was almost done, Lorenza started to swoon. He caught her by the shoulders before she fell and bundled her into a doorway. "Sorry, Signora, but we will need everything to prevent disaster…"

He dug into his pocket. "Here, some funds to see you on your way." He pressed several coins into her hand. She smiled weakly. She was natural poet and still retained some powers of her own. Perhaps enough to eke out a life as a fortune-teller. "Will I be in time to meet her?" Milien wondered aloud.

"Yes, young Maximilien. If you hurry," Lorenza said and closed her eyes. She was so tired. Maximilien Senior was not in time to save his beloved. But the son would be in time to save his sister. That she was certain. Their paths would part from here. Lorenza opened her eyes to catch a glimpse of Milien running off.

* * *

En route to Versailles, D'Eon was surprised to encounter General Lafayette on his horse, galloping wildly through the crossroads. His normally immaculate uniform was in disarray, as if he had leapt from his bed into the saddle without bothering to ensure his garments were in order. His hat had been crammed on back-to-front. His horse was sweating and foaming at the mouth. The beast was on the verge of collapse. A pothole in the road did it for both rider and beast. With a terrified neigh of pain, the horse stumbled, sending the hapless rider into the road.

It was Natalia's intervention that saved the general from severe injury. The road had been dry and hard as a rock, but with a hurriedly whispered poem, the road on which the general fell was transformed into a slushy mud puddle. A fall which should have snapped his neck only earned the general a jarred shoulder and a nasty bruise on the head. The horse, however, was lamed.

"General! What has happened?" D'Eon trotted over. He leapt down from the saddle to help the fallen man. The general recognized him after a few disoriented moments.

"Sir D'Eon?"Lafayette blinked. "Oh, Sir D'Eon, ride on to the palace. Warn them. The mob is coming. Keep Their Majesties safe," he groaned weakly. The general did not seem to recall that Sir D'Eon was wanted for questioning in an attempt on the king's life.

"Natalia! Stay here with the general… No, try to get him somewhere to be treated…" D'Eon would ride onto Versailles alone.

Ignoring Natalia's protests, he climbed into his saddle and spurred his horse on in the direction of the palace.

* * *

On reaching the palace gates, D'Eon found his way barred by the sentries. He cursed himself. The guards were unlikely to believe him, dressed as he was in his commoner's garb and perched on a horse which looked deceptively like a pack pony. For all their stamina, Cossack horses were small compared to the larger horses used in France. Still, he had to relay the warning. His horse whinnied at the sound of the guards drawing their weapons.

"Halt! Name yourself and your business!"

"I am Sir D'Eon de Beaumont! I bring a message from the General Lafayette..." he gasped.

"Sir D'Eon! Stand down, men! Stand down!" a redhead captain came running to the gate. It was his student, Etienne. "What's going on?" Etienne asked.

There was little time to explain. D'Eon relayed the general's warning. An angry mob of women were marching onto Versailles from Paris. They were supported by soldiers of the French regiments and their cannons. The situation was grim. The memories of the Bastille's storming and the riots were still fresh in the minds of the court. Immediately, D'Eon was hurried into the palace. Sir Michel Rochefort was standing in a garden which in its heyday would have bustled with activity from the nobles enjoying the fine weather. Now, it was a shell of its former glory. Only a handful of servants and guards were there to enjoy the autumn sun. Even that peace was soon to be shattered.

Captain Etienne gave orders to assemble the palace guardsmen. They would have to protect the royal family at all costs. Additional guards would be summoned from a garrison a few miles away. D'Eon wandered along the corridors, ignored by the servants, who were busy fleeing, and the guards who were busy fortifying the palace. He noted ruefully that Versailles was not meant to be a fortress. If the mob wanted, it would only be matter of time before the defences were breached. The memories came back to him. Here was a corridor along which he often encountered Anna in the train of ladies-in-waiting. There was a portrait of the late Queen Marie. Yet here was the door the page Robin bruised his nose on when Durand opened it whilst the boy was standing behind it.

"We've never seen you before… Are you a knight? I see you have a sword…" a little girl tugged at Sir D'Eon's coat. Princess Marie Therese regarded this intruder with suspicion. Her brother, Louis Charles, stood behind his sister, peering at the stranger fearfully. D'Eon had to admit that he must be a sight to the pair with mud on his clothes and a smear of blood from Lafayette's wound on his shirt. He could tell that the children were of high birth by the fine garments they wore. Silver and gold threads. And the little girl had a pearl necklace round her neck.

"Yes, mademoiselle, I am a knight of France." The words caught in his throat. "It is not safe here, where are your parents?" D'Eon asked. The little girl shrugged. Like most noble children, D'Eon supposed their parents left them in the care of a nurse or governess. He looked about for their governess.

"Marie! Louis!"

He was surprised to see the queen herself, running towards the children. "Maman!" the little boy shrilled and leapt almost into her open arms. "Hurry, my little ones, hurry…" D'Eon watched as the family all but ran for the safety of their rooms. She did not acknowledge D'Eon's presence. D'Eon could tell she was frantic with fear. After a few more turns, he was standing before the king's study. The door was open.

"We cannot protect all of the palace buildings and the gardens… sire… You have to address them," Sir Michel pleaded. King Louis XVI shook his head.

"We do not know how to… Where are our guards? Our advisors? Perhaps the council…" the king asked.

"Duke Philippe and the rest of the council are in the town… We could send someone to them…" the elderly knight suggested. "You are King Louis XVI of France. Your subjects…"

"They loathe us and our dear Marie…" Auguste admitted. "Sir Michel… ever since we were but a child, we have wondered if we could be king, as good a king as… my father, my grandfather…" Auguste strode meaningfully towards the portraits of Louis XV the Beloved and Louis XIV the Sun King. "One is truly beloved by his subjects and the other feared. Both respected." Auguste sounded so lost, like some small boy.

"Your Majesty," D'Eon could bear it no longer, watching in silence. "You are not them. In truth, many would call Louis XIV a tyrant and a warmonger…" he swallowed his remark with regards to Louis XV.

"You served our father, Sir D'Eon. Tell me, how would he have dealt with this? Tell me honestly," Auguste asked. D'Eon hesitated before continuing.

"If he had dealt with the problems and addressed them in a suitable manner, there would not be a need for this," D'Eon decided to stick his neck out. "He died too soon and left his young heir without suitable guidance on governing the country." To put it in a less diplomatic way, Louis XV killed his most loyal knight in Le Secret de Roi, Lia de Beaumont, alienated the others and murdered his queen. Queen Marie would have been the best person to guide Auguste, if only she had lived.

"He did not address them at all. That was honest, de Beaumont, and brutally so," Auguste smiled weakly. "How is Natalie? Has she married?" D'Eon stifled the urge to correct the king.

"It is not time to discuss this, but she is well."

"Convey our regards to her, Sir D'Eon," the king said wistfully. "Understand this, D'Eon. We still love her. However, as a father and husband, nothing further could come out of our association with her than friendship."

"I will, sire," D'Eon bowed.

* * *

The mob had reached the town near the palace. Frustrated by the sight of armed guards outside the palace, the mob had turned its ire on the hapless townspeople. Robespierre had to calm them lest they raze the place to the ground. "Master!" Milien finally caught up with the crowd. He was exhausted, having run most of the way. Robespierre caught his protégé as he stumbled.

"Hang him!" someone yelled.

Robespierre groaned at the sight of the local mayor bring beaten up by a mob of angry women. It was going to be a long day. His bad leg was starting to twinge. He knew it would be worse before long. _Where was Lorenza when you needed her?_

"The duke is inside, with Lafayette and someone you would be glad to see," he urged Milien into the inn which hosted the council. Milien smiled and stepped inside. Robespierre shook his head. It was like seeing D'Eon again, a younger version of the knight, whenever he looked at Milien. D'Eon was near. He knew it by the presence of Milien's twin. She was dressed as a boy when she brought the wounded Lafayette to the inn where the doctor was in the council, but Robespierre recognized her all the same.

"Max," Natalia greeted her brother with a peck on the cheek and a hug as soon as he entered the room.

"Lia," Milien returned the greeting in a similar fashion. The patient Lafayette was drowsing after a draught administered by the doctor to dull the pain of his shoulder. Someone had to speak to the soldiers, which were ready to riot.

"Sorry, Max, I must go to Uncle D'Eon. He must be in the palace," Natalia apologised. The palace might be surrounded by guards but there were secret ways to enter it. She had learnt them during her stint as a page to Lady Sophie.

"I understand, I will speak to the soldiers and the women… Be careful…" Milien nodded. He had little hope of calming tempers and the mob had been riled up but he had to try. He had seen cannons being readied. There would be bloodshed before this was over.

**Author's Notes: **

The Women's March onto Versailles occurred in the autumn of the same year the Bastille was stormed. The mob demanded that king and his court relocate to Paris.

I am removing Lorenza and Cagliostro from the picture as I am uncertain if they could play any further role in the story. Historically, Cagliostro was a con artist who died in a prison in Rome after he was forced to flee France after he was implicated in the Affair of the Diamond Necklace (a case where a diamond necklace originally made for Louis XV's mistress du Berry was stolen under false pretences). The French queen was implicated as well as a cardinal. The cardinal (a relative of Louis XVI) was tricked by Cagliostro and his accomplices into purchasing the diamond necklace as a gift to Queen Marie Antoinette based on a forged letter from the queen. The scandal which arose from the theft of the necklace probably added to the queen's reputation as a spendthrift. After her husband's arrest in Rome, Lorenza disappeared into a convent.


	76. The Last Chevalier of Versailles

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 76 – The Last Chevalier of Versailles **

"Viva la France!" the mob chanted. "Long live the king! Death to the queen!" D'Eon peered out of a window. The mob had breached the gardens' perimeters. He could see that Petit Trianon had been set ablaze in the distance. He ducked as a bullet chipped the wood of the window frame. The citizens still respected their king but the goodwill did not extend to his foreign-born wife. He did catch a glimpse of a familiar redhead in the mob. Robin. Along with General Lafayette, Robin was trying to restore some semblance of order.

D'Eon turned his attention back to Sir Michel. Auguste had declined to address the crowd and retreated to his private chambers. The old knight had pleaded with his royal master to no avail. "Lafayette cannot hold them off for long. He will have to make a choice soon, to defend the palace or support the mob." Sir Michel sat beside the window in an ornate chair normally used for the highest nobles of the blood. In the light cast by the fire reflected in the window, the old knight reminded D'Eon of Teillagory as he was dying. "Versailles will burn if His Majesty does not…"

"Let me speak to him!"

"Natalia?" D'Eon spun around to see not only Natalia, but her twin, Milien. Natalia was still clad in the same travel-stained clothes and her brother was dressed as a common clerk. D'Eon hoped they had entered the palace via some secret passage and that the palaces' defences had not been breached.

"The king and the royal family must leave for Paris permanently," Milien stated. "The people want nothing less."

"Auguste has to relent!" Natalia interjected. She had listen to her brother speak to the leaders of the mob. Lafayette would publicly address the king, if only he would grant them an audience.

"His Majesty will not agree!" Sir Michel replied. "He dislikes Paris. His home is in Versailles and he has hardly left the palace… where could he stay in Paris?"

"Tuileries Palace, where his grandfather lived," Milien said.

"Impossible! The place is small, dim and dank… It hasn't seen any decent repairs in ages!" Sir Michel declared. "We're running out of time. Look, we do not wish to use force but if necessary…" Milien shook his head.

"Max…" D'Eon approached his nephew. There was an almost fanatical fire in Milien's blue eyes that scared D'Eon.

"You little…" Sir Michel stepped forward as if to strike Milien. A shout from the mob outside stayed his hand. The defences had been breached!

D'Eon peered out of the windows. He could see the outnumbered guards falling to the mob's wrath. Something round was being lifted on a pole and paraded before the windows. With a sickened gasp, D'Eon saw it was a severed head. His feet froze to the spot. More heads were being lifted aloft, dripping gore and blood. The mob was baying for blood.

"D'Eon! Snap out of it! The King! We must protect His Majesty!" Sir Michel Rochefort hollered. They ran towards the king's private apartments via the shortest route.

"The children!" Natalia ran for the royal nursery. She had seen the children inside when they passed it looking for D'Eon earlier. They had been left in the care of their nurses for their afternoon nap. There was no telling what gruesome fate would befall them if they were to fall to the enraged mob. When she reached the nursery, she saw she need not worry. Captain Etienne had the Dauphin tucked under his arm as he ran for the king's apartments. The nurses followed with the princess. The princess was falling behind, being too big to be carried and too young to keep up with the adults.

"Natalia?" Etienne paused for a fraction of a second. Natalia grabbed the princess by the waist and tossed her over her shoulder like a sack of turnips.

"Move!" Natalia barked. She could spy a few rioters at the end of the long corridor. The motley crew ran with the mob close on their heels.

It was over for Versailles. Milien could hear the roar of flames and the destruction. "Death to the queen! Kill the bitch!" the women shrieked. There were the dying groans of the guards… Milien wondered if it was a mercy his sister was not a queen. He calmly walked over to a bookcase and pulled one of the books out. The bookcase slid open to reveal a secret passage. His uncle and sister could fend for themselves. He must get back to his master.

* * *

They were too slow. D'Eon's heart sank. The women were attacking any hapless guard or servant who challenged them with their knives. Blood stained the halls. Many times they were forced to make a detour to avoid the knots of rioters who now roamed the corridors. D'Eon gingerly stepped over a slain guard whose innards spilled out of his silt belly like oily ropes.

"D'Eon, go on without me! I will lure them away," Sir Michel hissed. If they were to run to the king's chambers, they might lead the mob straight to him.

"But…"

"I am an old man, D'Eon. So let me take my chances with them," Sir Michel smiled one last time before running down a hallway leading away from the royal apartments, shouting to draw the mob's attention as he did so. "Your Majesty! Protect His Majesty!" The women took the bait and chased after him. D'Eon closed his eyes and ran in the direction of the king's chambers. Shouts of 'whore' and 'slut' were echoing from the queen's apartments as he dashed past them. One of the royal nurses had fallen victim. She sprawled stabbed and coughing bloody froth across the threshold. He dare not look within but continued on.

The heavy doors of the king's apartments were still guarded by a pair of guards. "Halt!" they moved to stop him.

The doors opened a crack. "Let him in," Natalia stuck her blond head out of the opening. "Then get in here yourself," They had lost the palace apart from the few rooms which comprised the King's personal apartments. Under Natalia's direction, the two guards dutifully barred and fortified the door before they took their positions by it in case the mob should break it down.

It was a sorry sight that greeted him. Etienne was binding the wound of a royal nursemaid. It was a nasty slash and had bled heavily. The front of Etienne's uniform was bloodied. The royal children clung onto the skirts of their mother, wide-eyed with fear. The children were still in their nightclothes. The queen was wearing a shawl over her dress and her hair was dishevelled under a wig. A pair of ladies-in-waiting moaned as they clung onto each other by the far wall. King Louis XVI stood by the window in silence.

"Your Majesty…" D'Eon approached the king.

"Sir D'Eon…" Auguste turned to face him. D'Eon instinctively bent his knee and bowed low.

"Rise, D'Eon. It is over isn't it?" Auguste said sombrely. "They want my dear queen dead…"

"Speak to them, sire. Accept the move to Paris…" D'Eon's voice died on his lips when Auguste brushed his fingers against them. For a brief moment, D'Eon was transported back to that crypt where the Musketeers had sworn to serve King Louis XV. Auguste looked away awkwardly. "We do not know how to ask them to spare the mother of my children…" he admitted.

"Let the queen address them!" Natalia declared almost imperiously. "NO! They'll kill her!" Auguste shouted.

"Then speak, my liege," Natalia threw open the balcony doors. Auguste strode forward then faltered. To D'Eon's dismay, their king shrank away from the balcony at the sight of the mob below. For a terrible moment, he thought the king would faint and fall. "My dear!" the queen ran forward. The children clung to her skirts as she hastened forward. The royal family stood before the crowd.

A roar was raised by the crowd. The family paled and froze. Sensing danger, Etienne took hold of Auguste's arm and yanked him back into the safety of the room. Unfortunately, that left Marie Antoinette to face the wrath of the crowd. Muskets were raised and aimed at her amidst the glare of torches. Now that the first wave of rioters had exhausted their wrath, Robespierre was about lead Lafayette into the palace and speak to the king when he glanced at the balcony and saw the two small figures clinging to the queen's skirts.

"Hold your fire!" Robespierre could not care less if the queen was shot, but not in front of her children. "Madam! We must insist your children return indoors!" he shouted. Thankfully, the terrified queen and her children were dragged indoors by the guards before anyone could shoot.

"Maman!" the children screamed. The strain proved too much for the poor queen. She swooned in a faint as soon as she was dragged in and the doors closed. D'Eon glanced at the restive mob. He had caught a glimpse of Robin, but now the redhead was lost in the crowd. They were trapped. Someone had to speak to the crowd… A royal… The duke of Orleans was not around.

Natalia suddenly started pulling the queen's shawl and dress off her limp form. "Natalia, what are you doing?" D'Eon gasped. The others in the room were too distracted or astonished to protest. The queen was stripped to her chemise before anyone could stop Natalia.

"The queen will speak to them. I will speak to them," Natalia said as she tried to squeeze herself into the queen's dress. The ladies-in-waiting came to assist her with their ribbons and pins the best they could. Natalia was taller than Marie but she was slim and blond. She threw the shawl over her shoulders and crammed the wig onto her head. A hasty dusting of powder and lip-paint and Natalia was transformed from a weary traveller to a queen.

"Natalia, you'll be killed!" D'Eon protested when the full enormity of her plan sank in. The mob was baying for the queen's blood. Taking a deep breath, Natalia threw open the doors and stepped out on the balcony. More than one musket was raised and trained on her. Natalia lifted her chin and thrust out her chest almost defiantly.

"Citizens of France…" she started but her words were drowned out by jeers from the mob. Milien cursed under his breath when he recognised who it was standing on the balcony. He had to act. Tossing his hat into the air, he yelled out loud.

"Viva la France! Viva la Reine! Long live the queen!" Milien shouted. His cheer was rapidly picked up by the crowd and muskets lowered. Natalia glanced over the side of the balcony. Milien looked up. _Merci, Max._ Their eyes met for a second before Milien hastened away. The show of bravery by their queen had apparently softened their attitude slightly. It was long enough for Lafayette to reach the king's apartments with the proposal. A few minutes later, General Lafayette emerged on the balcony and announced the king's decision to leave for Paris. This announcement was greeted with much joy by the mob.

* * *

They were leaving Versailles for good. The family were given an hour to pack and prepare for the journey to Paris. The much subdued royal couple, the bewildered children and their surviving nurse were packed into a carriage under the watchful eye of Lafayette. Rioters, mostly women still streaked with blood from their rampage through the palace, ran alongside the plodding coach. D'Eon saw the grisly trophies on their poles at the head of the procession. His heart sank when he saw one familiar to him.

"Etienne…" D'Eon reached an arm to the pale-faced captain at his side. Etienne was in shock. He had just seen Sir Michel's severed head on a pole, part of the rioters' triumphant procession back to Paris.

"Oh no, Papa…" Etienne staggered. He had never called his foster father Papa before. It was too much for the redhead and he started weeping like a child. D'Eon caught him by the shoulder and gently led him away to the shade of a tree where Natalia waited. Robin had a lot to answer for.

"Lia, that was foolish!" Milien confronted Natalia. She had changed back to her manly garb. "You could have been killed!"

"You would not have let them kill me," Natalia replied. "Sir Michel is dead…" she nodded at Etienne, who was weeping into D'Eon's shoulder like a little boy.

"I will meet you at the Tussads'. Master Robespierre needs me…" Milien shook his head. "Camille will take you…" the blond grabbed the arm of the passing Camille Desmoulins.

"What gives, Mil? I'm going to meet Danton and Madame Roland…" Camille complained.

"It is on the way to Paris. The meeting will be held in the city instead of Versailles now," Milien said. "You do remember D'Eon de Beaumont, do you? Didn't Francois mention him saving you from being run over by a cart or something?"

"Fine, come with me. It is a long walk, Jean Paul took my horse…" Camille shrugged.

**Author's Notes: **

The end of Versailles as D'Eon knows it.

Poor Auguste really isn't suited for kingship.


	77. Tuileries Gardens

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Paris now for the royal family.

**Chapter 77 – Tuileries Gardens**

The Tussads' place was humble but the couple readily installed their guests in the small room under the eaves. To D'Eon's dismay, Etienne shrugged off their concern and took to the streets. D'Eon prayed that his student had the presence of mind to stay out of trouble. Sir Michel Rochefort's funeral would need to be dealt with. That in mind, D'Eon started planning his life and Natalia's in the newly-changed France. Employment must be sought since they had exhausted the funds they brought for their journey. D'Eon wondered if the new People's Council needed clerks or scribes.

Milien was often at the council meetings and they hardly saw him. Camille came over often to the Tussads' as his wife was a patient of Francois'. Camille was polite enough, but he was aware of D'Eon's royalist leanings and reluctant to recommend him. "D'Eon, the king, the old way of life is over. Sign up under Lafayette's banner, or move to England. You are too closely aligned to the monarchy."

"What will happen of His Majesty?" D'Eon asked.

"A constitutional monarchy, much like in England. A figurehead whose decisions must be vetted by the council…" Camille's eyes glowed as he launched into an animated description of the future role of the council.

"Will His Majesty agree?"

"His Majesty, well… He had not been seen by any but his wife and closest servants since he took up residence in Paris. They say he is ill but he refuses to let our doctors tend to him… If you don't mind me saying, de Beaumont. He is hiding from the outside world…" Camille shrugged.

"The poor children…" his wife cut in. "I spoke with their nurse, the one the council dismissed. They have a room with their mother but hardly any toys or distractions fit for little ones. As soon as their mother takes them out into the gardens to play, the people lob bottles and stones at her. Even with part of Tuileries Gardens walled off for their use… And the language! I would not have believed it if I hadn't been at the Gardens." Mrs Desmoulins was a lovely woman with kind eyes. She now dabbed at them with her handkerchief.

"Look, D'Eon. I have spoken too much. Leave it," Camille said. "The council is replacing the old guards and servants with new ones less prone to royalist leanings. The surviving house guards will be disbanded and replaced by soldiers from Lafayette's regiment. A tutor will be assigned to the children and their nursemaid sent off with a generous sum…"

"Let me speak with Rob- Robespierre. They can't be treated like this!" The outrage was apparent in D'Eon's voice. He could still recall their fear when besieged by the mob at Versailles.

* * *

Sir Michel's funeral was a simple affair, once Annemarie Tussad managed to talk the council into removing the near-skeletal heads of the slain House Guards from the gates of Tuileries Palace. Sir Michel's was the only one with white hair and a beard. She had his body retrieved from a ditch in Versailles earlier with D'Eon's help and stashed it in her shed with the other cadavers. They had found a priest to say the prayers. Etienne did manage to show up at the chapel, reeking of cheap wine and looking much-aged. Natalia had located him drunk in an alley. The old knight would be laid to rest next to Anna. D'Eon and Francois spent the night before digging his grave.

"Anna, I'm sorry…" D'Eon apologized. _He should have protected Sir Michel._

_No use crying, D'Eon. What will you do next?_ Through his tears, D'Eon fancied he saw his sister. Lia hovered beside the graves. _Will you go on to England? Or will you stay in France? _Her voice held a challenging edge to it.

She was right. He could not leave Auguste or his family behind, alone. He had to find a way to get into Tuileries, but he would not tell Natalia. She should not get involved any further. "Natalia, please see Etienne home," he calmly instructed. Etienne was downing a bottle of wine even as they patted the last piece of sod onto his foster father's grave.

"Etienne! Snap out of it!" Natalia snatched the bottle from him and dashed it onto the nearest gravestone. She hitched up her skirts, exposing her boots and dragged Etienne away by the arm. Francois watched them go. "They'd make a fine couple, if you don't mind me saying… I best get home soon with that chicken Annemarie wanted. Coming, Sir D'Eon?"

D'Eon shook his head. "I want to stay a while longer…" Francois nodded and loped off. The little priest had long gone. There was no one else about the cemetery. D'Eon waited a while before he pulled his hat down over his face. He turned his coat lapels upwards and slouched a bit. He was not a proud knight, but a soldier down on his luck now. For good measure he smeared a bit of earth on his breeches. He then started off in the direction of the Gardens.

* * *

There was a crowd waiting at the low wall which cut part of the Gardens off for the use of the royal family. It only came to waist-height and was topped by a wrought iron fencing. The whole thing was hastily thrown up within a week of the family's arrival. The Parisians might have resented this as the Gardens were previously open to all. D'Eon drew closer.

The Council had installed a handful of guards in case things got too rowdy. They started pushing the crowd of gawkers back as the first stirrings of activity started in the walled enclosure. They were too few to make any difference to the crowd's hostility.

"Austrian whore! Bastards!" The first to enter was the young Princess Marie Therese. The princess ran out barefoot, her skirts hitched up to the knees, a faux pas given that decent girls do not show off their ankles. "Little slut, just like her mama! Where do ya suppose that colouring came from? Definitely not His Majesty!" The catcalls grew in intensity. The girl braved the barrage of mud clods which started flying, dodging them as she weaved between the scrawny trees and bushes. She was followed by a small feisty spaniel which growled menacingly at their tormentors.

The queen tried to keep her poise as she stepped out of the protective walls of the old palace after her daughter. The dauphin clung onto her hand, almost lost against her heavy skirts. But the catcalls soon forced her back in tears. Someone had landed a mud clod on her wig, knocking the frothy hairpiece askew despite the best efforts of the queen's few remaining ladies-in-waiting to shield her from indignity. She had agreed to come to the garden with the children as the doctors prescribed sunlight and open air for the dauphin's health, but this was too much for her! She called out to her daughter to return and get away from the wall.

"That is quite enough!" D'Eon exclaimed. Lia would not have stood for this! _Nor Durand, nor Robin…_ A hand clapping down on his shoulder stopped him from striking the nearest youth, who was yelling something decidedly obscene about the queen and her pet spaniel.

"Calm yourself, Sir D'Eon." It was Sir William Wordsworth who had stayed his hand. The Englishman was much older now, with silvery streaks at the temples. The beleaguered queen and her entourage fled into the darkness of the palace. The princess, pouting, reluctantly scooped up her canine bodyguard into her arms and ran after them.

"A drink first, and would you like to join my picnic?" Greeting him cheerfully, William pushed his hip-flask into D'Eon's hand. The Englishman had a basket hanging off his arm, as if he were stepping out for a country picnic. The sunlight reflected off his eyeglasses, making him look like an absent-minded scholar but D'Eon knew full well behind that façade was a poet to be reckoned with. He took a gulp from the flask William offered him. It was a light cider, an elixir to his parched throat. Ruefully, he quietly chid himself not to be too trusting. Sir William could have easily made him sip poison if it served his purpose.

"Come, come. We must speak, but not here…" D'Eon allowed himself to be led away from the crowd. William dropped his voice a notch and switched smoothly from fluent French to English.

"I am on orders from the Dowager Queen Mary… keep walking, D'Eon. Don't stop and gawk," Sir William paused to call a greeting to a pair of the newly-formed Revolutionary Guards. D'Eon winced inside when one of the men made a crude joke about the queen and Sir William laughed. They continued walking and William resumed his conversation once they were out of earshot. "Queen Mary would like her distant relation and friend by letters, Maria Antonia, and her family in a place of safety. Somewhere off Hyde Park rooms have been set aside awaiting their arrival since the Bastille fell. You must understand this is a delicate matter and may concern their lives…"

They were now at a relatively secluded corner of the Gardens. Apart from a vigorously necking pair of lovebirds and a dozing workman, they had the shade of the elms to themselves. The Englishman paused for a moment, eyes flitting between the workman and the lovers. He made his decision and strode over to the lovers. The woman had her leg lifted and almost round her beau as he held her against a tree. Too late D'Eon recognized that blond head which was buried in the dark-haired lady's neck.

"Young Maximilien, if you would be so kind as to stop caressing your filly, I would believe your uncle is in dire need of employment, preferably inside that palace…" William said tartly with a cough. Milien pulled away from Charlotte with a curse.

"Sir William! Only if you promise to help Master Robespierre! Since Lorenza left…"

"That did not stop you from wooing this young lady," Sir William tipped his hat to Charlotte, who had re-arranged her bodice. She hastily took off after giving Milien a peck on his cheek. "Your master does not trust me. I can teach you the proper poem to treat his affliction but Jean Paul is no pushover. We have to be discrete."

"What's wrong with Robin?" D'Eon asked. "Is he ill?"

"Yes, you may say he is ill, but it is not for want of a doctor. Jean Paul infected him with some foul curse which even I am hard-pressed to break. One might say he is Jean Paul's puppet. The more he fights the suggestion, the more distress it causes him…" Sir William explained quietly.

"No! My master will stand up to that Jean Paul…" Milien protested, leaping to his Master's defence. The Englishman shrugged.

"Mil, your uncle needs employment. Would you be so kind as to assist him?"

"It would be best for him to leave France. And you as well, Sir William. Your return here is no coincidence. Indeed you have been credited with helping many fleeing nobles."

"Exaggerations, my lad. Yet you have no problems naming your sister as a possible tutor to the dauphin and his sister before the council."

"The young ones cannot repeat the same mistakes their parents made. The people still recall the reforms put forward by La Baronne Natalia de Beaumont. I have spoken to her and she is willing to accept." D'Eon gasped at this revelation. Natalia had not spoken to him of this.

"My advice to you, Maximilien. Stay close by your master. Protect him from his own folly. Be his strength when the doubts come on him. I know you will. He means a lot to you," Sir William's eyes took on a kindly look. "Now, about your Uncle D'Eon…"

"No. And don't you dare think of involving my sister Lia in your spy work," Milien turned on his heel. "We could easily have you arrested for conspiring against the citizens."

"Who? Me who advised the People's Council over the past seasons?" the English knight laughed. "Will the people send those who gave them the new era to the gallows?" Fury burning his cheeks, Milien took off without a backwards glance at his uncle. Milien was under no delusions as to where Sir William's loyalties lay, or the true nature of his dealings within the Council and the royal courts of France and England. _For fraternity, equality and liberty; so long as the English throne remains intact._

"Firebrand, isn't he?" Sir William grinned. He now strode over to the sleeping workman. "D'Eon, there is someone I would like you to meet. May I introduce our humble French soldier of fortune - Jean Baptiste?"

The workman, seemingly roused from his nap, reached for the tricone hat which had been shading his face from the sun. D'Eon gasped in shock when the hat was lifted off the man's face.

"You might know him better as Robbie," William smiled at the expression on D'Eon's face. He unfurled his cape on the grass, placed his picnic basket down on a tree stump and sat down on his cape. "Sandwich? It's all the rage in London. Pickles, cheese and ham between two slices of bread…" the poet took one out of his basket and bit into it. It would take a while for D'Eon and Robbie to catch up with each other.

"Robbie? Is that you?"

"Of course, Sir D'Eon…" Robbie grinned impishly. His boyish frame had filled in well. He was still wiry but he sported muscular arms and legs. Stubble peppered his chin. The grey eyes were still the same, laughing and eager for adventure.

"How did you… Sergei shot you in the heart!"

"He did. I thought I would die from the heartbreak of losing this…" Robbie tossed something tarnished with a trailing chain to the knight. D'Eon laughed when he saw what it was. It was the same pocket watch he had given his page that Easter in St Petersburg. The bullet had smashed into the brass pocket watch, denting the cover and shattering the coral breast of the robin engraved on it. The words LIBERTY were untouched. "Thanks for the gift, Sir. And guess what? The watch still ticks!" True enough, the sturdy timepiece was still working.

"Robbie, are you still spying for the English?" D'Eon asked.

"Perhaps," Robbie fobbed off the question. "I have a nice salary watching this old palace…" he left the words trailing.

"I have boiled eggs and apples too if you like…" Sir William beckoned the pair over to join his picnic.

**Author's Notes:**

The royal family is not having an easy time in Paris. D'Eon is reunited with Robbie and Sir William. Will Sir William recruit D'Eon for his scheme to get the French royal family to London as per Queen Mary's orders? How will Natalia fare as royal tutor and will D'Eon get close to the royal family?


	78. A New City

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 78 – A New City**

It was a full month before D'Eon managed to persuade Camille to arrange a meeting with Robespierre. In the meanwhile, Etienne had seemingly recovered from his depression and was accepted into the Duke of Orleans' household as a valet. It was a harsh fall for one who had been once a captain of the House Guards. Duke Philippe was on friendly terms with the revolutionaries and there were rumours that the People's Council intended to crown him king of France as soon as they manage to force Louis XVI to abdicate. The law did not provide any precedence for such an act in France, unlike in England. The king was monarch for life, in God's grace. Also, there was the Dauphin to consider. D'Eon had little opportunity to speak with the duke and did not know how much truth there was in those rumours.

Natalia had left the Tussads' after apologizing to her uncle for keeping him in the dark. Milien had had a hand in her appointment. She had been given rooms in the old palace. "They wanted someone who is aware of the protocols of the court as well as sympathetic to the people's will. Baronne de Beaumont fitted the bill," Francois explained. D'Eon spent his time at the Tussad's helping about the house since he was unable to find work in the drastically-altered Paris. The law of the mob ruled and skirmishes were common. Francois' medical skills were in constant demand, as was his wife's skill in making death masks for those who perished. Milien was a constant visitor to the Tussads, as was Sir William. D'Eon thought he spied Robbie among the guards patrolling the gardens of the old Tuileries Palace once, but he might have been mistaken.

Now, D'Eon was escorted through a medieval keep known as the Temple by Camille. He heard Robin before he saw him. A heated discussion was in full swing.

"Damn it, Marat! You know that's never going to happen! Face it! the people still love His Majesty, even as they support Orleans…"

"Abdication would be a bloodless way…" Madame Roland's voice echoed. "Does the English poet have any ideas on how to…"

"Pah! Sir William is no Frenchman! It would be best for all if Louis XVI hangs himself and his son dies from some sickness…"

Camille announced D'Eon's arrival. There was a flurry of activity within the room before Robespierre excused himself. D'Eon caught a glimpse of a table and the sitters round it before the door shut behind Robespierre.

"Robin…" D'Eon started.

"I no longer go by that name, de Beaumont…"

"Fine, Robespierre. I must insist that His Majesty and his family be treated with the due respect…"

"Listen, D'Eon. If Jean Paul and his goons had his way, the royal family would have their heads on pikes before Notre Dame. But the people will not stand for it." Robespierre stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the market below. "Look, D'Eon, Things have changed…"

"Not for the better," D'Eon replied tartly. The long queues and angry citizens before the baker's still remained. A fight was breaking out in alleys. The security of the markets had all but disintegrated with the demobilization of the foreign mercenaries of the Parisian guards. The Council had decided that they did not require the services of the professional Swiss and German soldiers when they had so many Frenchmen seeking employment. D'Eon winced when a young French soldier, his uniform all crumpled, dropped his musket. The firearm went off, scattering a group of terrified children. The man had clearly no or little experience or training in the use of his firearm. One child had been hit and sat screaming as blood spurted from his ruined leg.

"Lafayette would see to it that the enlisted Frenchmen are trained adequately…" Robespierre did not sound too confident. "All this rioting and thieving… the army will put a stop to it…"

"The general is also outraged by the treatment of the royal family, burning down the palace at Versailles," D'Eon said quietly. "And the House Guards. They carried out their duties to the end and should be properly accorded respect instead of being tossed in a ditch to rot!"

"That was not my doing. Jean Paul's supporters can be very vocal. There is nothing we can do for the dead. We had to get the royal family to Paris…"

"That's right, Robin. What about Auguste? Do you still remember him? Anna told me you used to give him piggyback rides when he was younger. Or Queen Marie? You admired her, didn't you? Would she have wanted her son to be treated like…"

"D'Eon! It would have been easier if he had taken after Queen Marie. Louis XVI had his chances to change things but he didn't! Perhaps if…" Robespierre paused. What would have happened if he had remained as Robin the page? Would he be better placed to guide Auguste? No, it was more likely he would have been killed. Louis XV would not allow the truth about his queen's death to be known. Or if he had stayed by D'Eon's side… No, it was all past. Water under the bridge not worth considering.

"Robin, let me go into Tuileries… For Natalia…"

"As what, D'Eon? You're not one of the guards. You have been away too long to pass for a French soldier since Lafayette put in his reforms. If you must know, your niece is not alone. Etienne Rochefort was recommended by Duke Philippe to be His Majesty's personal valet. Or would you be considering the post of lady-in-waiting?" Robespierre taunted. "There is the job of laundress. You have been helping out about the Tussads', haven't you?"

"Robin, even if I have to wear a damned dress again, I have to be in Tuileries!" D'Eon lost his temper then and punched Robin in the nose.

* * *

"Uncle… he was messing with you," Natalia concluded when she took in the sight of D'Eon in a peasant dress, apron and mob-cap. Francois chuckled. The doctor had been appointed to replace the old royal physician after the latter had a total nervous breakdown and was shut away in the asylum for running about town declaring he was a chicken. It would have been much simpler and more dignified to enter as Francois' assistant. Out of the corner of his eye, D'Eon saw Robbie stifling his laughter with a corner of a curtain. He did not want to know what the guard was doing prying about the old cabinet in the hall.

"Get out of that dress and into some proper clothes…" Natalia urged. They had to get D'Eon properly dressed before he met the royal family. "Mademoiselle Natalia, what is 'liberty'?" the princess Marie Therese and her brother walked into the room at that instant.

"Is that Maman's lady-in-waiting? She looks so old…" the child blurted out innocently. "Maman! She's here!"

"Marie! Don't shout so, it's not becoming…" Marie Antoinette swept in after her wayward children. She froze and gaped as recognition sank in. "D'Eon? Sir D'Eon de Beaumont? Whatever are you doing in that dress?"

"Trying to sneak in and discuss some escape plan with His Majesty, most likely," Etienne said as he walked in. "Louis XVI wants out."

"But he has a duty to France!' Natalia protested. "He fears for the lives of his family should they remain…" Etienne said. "His depression is deepening, Natalia. He can barely function, even with the medicines our doctor has been drugging him with."

"We want to leave too. I want my children to be safe, in London, Vienna… anywhere but here!" the queen declared and sobbed into Etienne's shoulder. The redhead's hand immediately rose to stroke her blond hair. If His Majesty were to enter the room now and see the pair, D'Eon dreaded what would happen.

"Marie my queen, is that the new lady-in-waiting? Do introduce us…" Auguste chose this inopportune moment to enter. He stared at D'Eon, blinked and then started to guffaw. "Sir D'Eon! Oh my, this really brings back memories of Aunt Sophie…"

"Francois, you quack! Whatever did you give His Majesty this time? We need him in his right senses to vet the latest laws!" an annoyed Duke came running with an armload of scuffed papers.

"Just a concoction of coffee grounds, powdered herbs and a generous bit of liquor…" Francois trembled in his chair. "The opium would have put him to sleep and you need him to sign…"

"You got him drunk enough to fold paper boats from the documents and float them in the bath," the duke howled and tore at his hair. "The council will be furious! If it isn't bad enough we have a weak king, we have to have a mad one as well to keep up with the bloody English! George III abdicated the throne before he went mad but we can't!"

"At least he finally got out of his bed for a bath," Francois replied. His bravado was coming back.

"Natalie sweet, Marie sweet, let's go riding…" Auguste hiccupped. "Forget about those boring…" he stumbled, fell and started snoring in Natalia's lap.

"Papa's asleep!" the young dauphin declared. His sister tentatively poked at her father's shoulder. "Come on, children… let's let Papa sleep. Mama will play the piano for you…" the queen hustled her children out. D'Eon and the other menfolk would get the king back into his bed.

* * *

"Just let us die…" Auguste moaned. He was having a terrific hangover. "Anna? Maman…" he shielded his eyes from the sunlight. D'Eon shook his head and drew the curtains a little. He had stayed by the king's bedside, turning turns with Etienne and Natalia to keep watch. Francois was not going to feed another one of his odd medicines to the king again. Not on his watch. For now he was alone. Natalia and Etienne had gone with the queen and the children to brave the daily venture into the garden for the dauphin's health.

"Sir D'Eon. We guess Philippe must be furious about the mess we made of his letters," Auguste sat up. "Do they want me to abdicate?"

"I believe that was one of the options they were considering," D'Eon admitted. He wished he had taken Natalia's advice to change out of his dress. He had not wanted to leave the king alone for a moment. Now he felt ridiculous in that mob-cap and apron.

A chorus of catcalls and jeers sounded from outside the window. D'Eon peered through the glass and saw that he was looking down into the walled garden. The workmen had not completed the raising of the walls yet and the queen and her entourage were on the receiving end of a barrage of mud clods and jeers. One of the ladies-in-waiting broke ranks and fled in tears. Natalia had her parasol open and was shielding her young charge, the princess. Etienne was yelling at the guards to disperse the crowd.

"Why? It hurts so much to see them like this," Auguste was standing beside him now, witnessing his family's distress. "Bella would probably leave us now. She's a brave girl to hold on so long. We did not ask to be king. If only I had an elder brother who lived…" Queen Marie had a notoriously difficult time producing an heir despite her years of marriage to Louis XV. Auguste was an only child. Many in the court secretly put it down to Louis XV constantly neglecting his wife for the many mistresses he kept.

"If they asked, would Your Majesty abdicate?" D'Eon asked quietly. The commotion was dying down now that the guards finally were spurred into carrying out their duties by the timely arrival of General Lafayette. The dauphin, still shaken, wandered away from his mother a bit. The princess threw off her cape and started attacking the nearest tree, trying to scamper up into the branches despite her mother's admonishments. Natalia only hovered stoically below, ready to steady the princess if need be. The princess was inching her way along a branch towards the fence.

"No. Sir D'Eon. We can't. Charles Louis would succeed to the throne and we do not wish to be apart from him. They wouldn't allow us to be with him, will they? He's such a sensitive child. If it were Marie Therese, we would be more at ease…" Auguste sounded a lot older. He was right, D'Eon had to admit. Between his timid nature and delicate health, the dauphin was ill-suited for the duties of the throne. The princess would never rule France. The laws of France forbade it. If Charles Louis were to succeed, who would they appoint as regent? Duke Philippe of Orleans? Or could the dauphin abdicate in turn? The political implications were immense.

There was a triumphant whoop from the princess as she reached her goal. She now perched at the top of the wall like a squirrel. Apart from a solitary guard D'Eon recognized as Robbie from the jaunty way his hat was set, the wall was unguarded. She hesitated a moment, considering the freedom of the greater Tuileries gardens and the calls of her concerned mother. Making her choice, she shimmied down the inside of the wall and returned to her tutor's side.

"Marie Therese is affianced to her cousin Franz of Austria, the son of the Emperor Joseph. We shudder to think what the Viennese would make of our wild French princess," Auguste's eyes glowed with paternal pride. "No match had been made for Charles yet. The Spanish Infanta Maria Eulalie or the princess of Savoy? Perhaps we may even end up with an English daughter-in-law if Queen Mary had her way getting us to London."

"You do not care for London?" D'Eon asked. It was rare that given the bad blood between Louis XV and George III that George IV had apparently allowed his mother to send aid to the besieged Louis XVI. The more friendly Austrians and Spaniards had not sent any aid, nor raised any uproar at the siege of Versailles.

"The sea, Sir D'Eon. We'll have to cross the sea to get to London," Auguste shuddered. That was unexpected. D'Eon did not expect his king to have a secret fear of the ocean. Tired of their games, the queen and her entourage left the walled garden below.

"Sir D'Eon, come tomorrow in man's clothing. The dress doesn't suit you," Auguste added.

"Yes, sire. _Merci."_ It was a relief that whatever employment Auguste had in mind for D'Eon did not involve that dress.

* * *

Disguised as a workman, General Lafayette looked up from his tankard at the Englishman's entrance. He hurriedly glanced back down as the newcomer took a seat beside him and called the waitress over for a cup of coffee. "Has the duke considered my humble proposal?" Sir William asked quietly in English. The general nodded.

"My man tells me Louis is in a deep depression and under constant watch. But they would not accept the duke if Louis is forced to give up his rights…"

"He wouldn't. Not the Duke, not His Majesty…" Lafayette shook his head.

"The Council is losing patience with the King, especially the more rabid dogs like Jean Paul… There will be blood, and I am not being dramatic…" William dropped a cube of sugar into his cup and swirled the spoon round.

"Is it possible for the family to be saved? God, they're children, Charles Louis and Marie Therese… I have watched enough children die in the Revolutionary War in the Americas," Lafayette downed his drink. Sir William only thumped him on the shoulder in a show of comradeship.

"We have to plan, soldier. And friends in unlikely places."

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon is now back in the employ of a king, but for how long? Robbie's presence in the guards is not a coincidence.


	79. Spy Games

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 79 – Spy Games**

D'Eon soon settled into a routine as a valet to the king. Auguste. Often, the king would retreat to his room for days on end and refuse all visitors, lying in a lethargic stupor in his bed. Auguste picked at his food and ate little. D'Eon often found the meal trays untouched. The purges and medicines prescribed by the physicians did little to help. It was not long before D'Eon had to send Auguste's garments to be altered to suit his weight loss.

"Sir D'Eon, will we lose our life, like King Charles I of England?" the king asked one morning as D'Eon was bringing in breakfast on a tray. D'Eon saw that the king had been reading _The History of Charles I._ "If we were to be executed, what will become of our family, Little Marie and Charles Louis?" Auguste asked.

"Your Majesty, they will not dare lay a hand on you. The citizens of France…" D'Eon tried to reassure the melancholic monarch. Auguste only waved him away. "We're not hungry. Take those away." D'Eon reluctantly proceeded to obey the command.

"Your Majesty, you must eat and regain your strength! Natalia tells me that you have not been eating much for days." The queen burst into the king's chamber. "You're starving yourself, my lord. The children cannot do without a father." Taking the tray from D'Eon, the queen tried to coax her husband to eat. Her Majesty cared for Auguste in her own way. Oddly, Marie Antoinette seemed to be bearing up better than expected. D'Eon put it down to her children and her pets.

When they came to Paris, the queen had inadvertently packed along her five long-haired cats to Tuileries, unable to abandon them to the mob at Versailles. The Duke of Orleans had later given her a small spaniel for the children. Being naturally fond of cute animals, the queen was delighted. The duke was less delighted when he found that she was unable to arrange for him to meet the king as Auguste was not receiving visitors. King Louis XVI's indifference to the affairs of state left a sour taste in the Council's mouth and it was not hesitant to voice its ire to the Duke.

Sir William had quietly approached D'Eon on a few occasions to enquire about the king's health. Otherwise, the knight did not mention further plans for the family's flight to England. The Englishman's loyalties were with England and D'Eon did not trust him completely on this account. Sometimes D'Eon would toy with the idea of aiding the royal family in their flight to safety abroad. However, Auguste's and his son's ill health made that a risky undertaking. Father and son had to regain their health first. The poor air in Paris did not agree with the young boy. The dauphin was plagued by bouts of sickness all winter.

D'Eon's past experiences with Master Teillagory, Durand of the _Secret de Roi_ taught him that things were not always as they seemed. Etienne and the remaining lady-in-waiting, Madame Labelle, provided good company for the queen in the king's absence, but D'Eon noticed that Labelle would often leave the valet and her mistress alone in the room under the pretext of some minor chore which could have been left to the servants. Etienne had also formed an odd partnership with the soldier Jean Baptiste or Robbie. They were often seen together, as thick as thieves. Natalia held herself aloof from the pair, apparently consumed by her duties as tutor to the princess and dauphin.

Milien visited on a few occasions in the company of Robin or Lafayette, but they were always turned away by the king. Robbie made it a point to keep well clear of Milien. D'Eon had witnessed him leaping into a pile of brambles once to avoid encountering Milien and risk blowing his cover. Both Natalia and Milien did not acknowledge each other even when passing in the halls. Knowing that the bond between the twins more than rivalled that he had with his sister, Lia, their silence was deafening. Something was definitely afoot and D'Eon was not in the know. So D'Eon decided he had to figure out what was going on behind the king's back, even if it meant testing his long-neglected skills as a spy.

* * *

It was a rainy spring dusk when D'Eon finally embarked on his own mission. He left the palace clad in his commoner's garb, especially those culottes the masses favoured above the breeches and stockings. Sir William had been kind enough to inform him at their last meeting of his current residence and D'Eon thought he could call on the Englishman first. He was perturbed to find the inn room formerly occupied by Sir William empty. Thwarted, he was about to leave the inn when he felt a dagger blade at his neck.

"Uncle, the family must not leave France." It was Milien. The pressure on D'Eon's neck eased a bit when his nephew recognised him in the fading light. "The Council suspects Sir William of working with the English to smuggle the family to England. We were to arrest him but it appears the bird has fled for English soil." There was a scraping sound as Milien replaced the dagger in its sheath. "Uncle, the king must side with the council. It is the only way."

"They want him to turn his back on tradition and sign away the privileges of the nobles. The nobles would not take kindly to this," D'Eon argued. "And the abolishment of the rights of the clergy and church…"

"Lafayette is willing to sacrifice a few privileges, and so is the Duke of Orleans. In fact, the duke insists we call him 'Citizen' instead of Duke. He is with the people," Milien replied. "The Church is meant to help the people, not break their backs with tithes. The old ways cannot go on." He was earnest. D'Eon saw that Milien was clutching the _Book of Psalms_ in his other hand. "If they try to flee for their lives, and they will try… death awaits their majesties."

"How can they not fear for their lives, Max? They are isolated, jeered at and confined in their residence. Look out in the streets, Max. The reforms are not working. There are fights in the streets and all manner of looting…"

"Master Robespierre and the others will come up with something… The law will be enforced vigorously…"

"More gallows? More prisons?" D'Eon asked.

"No more gallows, uncle. Hanging is too barbaric. No burnings at the stake too. The Council will be introducing a new device to minimize the agonies of death for the condemned. Uncle, please keep an eye on Lia for me. She may be meddling where she should not…" Milien stepped out of the room. "And warn Lafayette he is being watched too. If he treasures his neck, he would refrain from hobnobbing with strange foreigners."

"Max! What did you see in the Psalms?"

"A time of much bloodshed, uncle, should Their Majesties flee for Austria." Then he was gone.

* * *

D'Eon decided to confront Robbie and Etienne next. However, he arrived at the palace to find that his niece had beaten him to it. Natalia had taken the initiative to corner the pair in the study. D'Eon cautiously pushed the door ajar to hear Natalia heartily scolding both men in French and English with occasional lapses into Russian.

"A sea journey? The dauphin is too weak for a journey of any kind, Robbie. And you should know better than to trust Sir de Mercy, Etienne."

"Natalia, what is going on?" D'Eon had to ask. "Sir William has vacated his rooms in St Catherine's Street." He shut the door behind him and locked it.

"Thank goodness for that," Robbie exclaimed. "Are you working for Sir William, Robbie?" D'Eon took Robbie by the shoulder. The young man nodded reluctantly.

"We are working for the same goal, Sir D'Eon. The royal family must be moved to a place of safety," Etienne leapt to Robbie's defence. "Sir de Mercy has assured me that the archduke, now Emperor of Austria, will provide sanctuary for his sister, the queen…"

"Sir de Mercy is a conniving snake and his master is no better," Robbie hissed. The ambassador's attempt on Natalia's life had not been forgiven. "The Emperor, like the English king, wants them in his control, especially the heir to the throne," Natalia replied with shrewd insight. "Lafayette had been contacted by Sir William, hadn't he? The Council guards stopped him at the gate earlier from calling on the children. They are getting wary of his loyalties."

"General Lafayette and Sir William have the same goal but they do not agree on the means. Lafayette has contacted some merchant captain from the New World," Robbie said tersely.

"You don't expect them to travel all that way to Boston," Etienne protested. "It will keep them out of the power struggles of the royal houses of Europe," Natalia confided. "However, they will have to give up the comforts they are used to."

"I say we go with Sir de Mercy's plan and send them to Austria."

"No, London is nearer. And the English are fearless sailors who know the Channel well. You Frenchmen get seasick in mild seas," Robbie mocked.

"English spy! I have a mind to expose you, Robbie!" Etienne threw a punch at Robbie. The raven-haired man replied with a wrestling grip on the redhead.

"Gentlemen, enough!" D'Eon exclaimed. Natalia quietly emptied a vase of water over the pair. A temporary truce was called. "Her Majesty is most keen to return to her home city of Vienna. Sir de Mercy has sent her letters from her brother," Etienne confessed. "And Robbie has been smuggling in letters from both Sir William and her aunt, Queen Mary. His Majesty is more reluctant to undertake the journey."

"Burn those letters," D'Eon murmured. Or perhaps he could get to those letters and infer the motives of the writers. "The letters are in the top drawer of the armoire in the hall, Uncle. His Majesty's too," Natalia whispered. "Her Majesty reads the letters from her family often to buoy her spirits." D'Eon winced inside. The armoire was in too open a place for private correspondence. So much for the family's private letters, he expected half the servants and guards had been prying in it. It was not uncommon for a costly trinket or two to go missing these days.

After poring over the documents, D'Eon was surprised to find most of them were in French and included a few from more moderate members in the People's Council. There were words of comfort and reassurance from Queen Mary, which as far as D'Eon could make out was all honesty. The letters from Austria were more formal and carefully crouched. D'Eon did not trust the Austrians. There was a letter from Lafayette to the king. Instead of tossing them into the fire, D'Eon replaced them in the drawer, which was unlocked all along. D'Eon would advise the king to be more wary of his letters.

* * *

The next person D'Eon approached was General Lafayette. He found the very sombre general at his barracks. For some odd reason, Lafayette had received marching orders to go to the port of Marseilles, away from Paris for the next six months. Lafayette had been poking at the sand at his feet dismally with his uniform coat tossed aside on the bench he sat on. However, the general smiled when he saw D'Eon.

"D'Eon, come with me," he whispered secretively and urgently. He tugged D'Eon away from the barracks to a smoky tavern. The general approached a seller of smoked eels. "D'Eon, I believe you may have met Captain Coon, who visited with the delegation from the New World so many years ago," Lafayette handed the man a coin and took the smoked eel he was offered.

"Good evening, my good fellow," Captain Coon grinned and shed the guise of fish-peddler. "So you will be taking over where Mister Lafayette left off, sir?"

Captain Coon had his vessel ready in Calais, having arrived a week ago. He would be in France while he had his ship refitted and repaired. In two weeks, he would be ready to sail back to Boston with goods and hopefully, some passengers of high birth. "Mind you, sir. My men would get curious if we linger too long. A month, Louis will have to decide. If not, I leave."

His straightforward statement was delivered without any rancour.

* * *

D'Eon wondered if King Louis XVI should take the rare chance at possible freedom or continue as a prisoner. _Would we lose our lives?_ Auguste had asked. If Auguste and the dauphin were to vanish from Paris, would the Duke of Orleans be crowned the new king? Or will France fall apart into chaos? D'Eon returned to Tuileries with his mind awhirl.

Marie Therese was playing with a crude hobbyhorse Etienne had crafted from an old broom. The spaniel yipped and hopped about her skirts. "Papillion, heel!" the princess scolded. There was something in her voice which both reassured and commanded. She took after her grandmother. Marie Therese had her grandmother's intelligence and looks. Natalia found her a bright child who learned fast. Still a child, she had mastered French, English, Latin and was pestering Natalia to teach her Russian. She had an immense curiosity in scientific matters as well. It was a pity Queen Marie never met her grandchildren. Mindful of Queen Marie's tragic end, D'Eon prayed the young princess would be more fortunate.

The dauphin was in bed with an upset stomach. His poor health prevented him from taking lessons on most days. Natalia was busy coaxing him to take his medicine when D'Eon walked in unnoticed.

"We cannot bear it anymore!" Marie Antoinette said as her lady-in-waiting held and tried to console her. "They're killing us. The dauphin needs a proper doctor. And His Majesty."

"Be brave, Your Majesty, we will leave here," Madame Labelle said. "Etienne has everything planned out…"

D'Eon's heart sank at her words.

**Author's Notes:**

Four options open to the royal family: flee to London, Austria or the New World, or remain in Paris.

D'Eon is a poor spy here. No wonder the young ones are not taking him into their confidence about the family's escape plans.


	80. Flight for Freedom

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 80 – Flight for Freedom **

"_Natalia, please. Take me into your confidence…"_

"_Uncle, your face is like an open book where men may read strange things… You're too honest."_

"_I was part of the Secret de Roi…" _

Natalia would not relent to his pleas. Perhaps Etienne would be more trusting of him. D'Eon stared at his reflection in the river below. The passing years had not been kind to him. On hindsight, it was a wonder he managed to survive as long as he did back in the secret police. Bernis had been reluctant to take him in but he eventually relented in the face of D'Eon's stubborn persistence. D'Eon often wondered if some unknown blunder on his part had resulted in the demise of his colleagues. Not a pleasant thought. He did not foresee his old Master's double-crossing him and he would have died on many occasions if it weren't for his more wily comrades like Durand and later Sergei. No wonder his sister had been reluctant to recommend his services to the king as a knight of the Secret de Roi. Etienne and Natalia had planned something. He would only get in their way.

It was then that he noticed that he was not alone on the bridge. "May I tell your fortune, monsieur?" a shawled woman, possibly a beggar, called out. D'Eon nodded and threw her a coin. Perhaps he could do some good for a starving beggar.

"_Merci…"_ the beggar woman lifted her face. It was Lorenza. The years had not been kind to her either. There was a moment of uneasy tension which soon passed. Lorenza quietly took out her tarot cards and held them out to her customer. D'Eon selected one and returned it to her for his reading. "What must we do?"

"_The Knight of Wands_. The element fire. You hestitate in a situation which demands action," she paused and peeled away another card which had been stuck behind the first. Her cards were sticky from frequent use. "_Knight of Swords_, who rushes headlong into the fray… most peculiar. Perhaps someone close to you should reconsider his course of action."

"What will happen to His Majesty?" D'Eon handed her another coin. She offered him the cards again.

"_The Hanged Man_, a martyr. I foresee bloodshed on a pedestal," the fortune-teller declared when D'Eon handed her the card he had selected. D'Eon shuddered involuntarily at her words. The guards had spoken of a device they called the guillotine the council was building. The half-finished scaffold cast an ominous shadow across the market, so they said.

"Lorenza, where are Robin and Maximilien?" D'Eon asked. "The bloody redhead is probably holed up with the rest of the Council in their Temple while his erstwhile protégé is snooping about the palace," Lorenza replied tartly. She put her tarot cards back into her apron and was soon on her way.

* * *

On reaching the palace, D'Eon went to check the letters. The lock was broken this time and several of the letters were gone. He called for his niece, former student and Jean Baptiste.

"Natalia, did they burn the letters like we advised?" he asked the trio. "Perhaps…" Natalia replied with a frown. Their Majesties were careless with their letters and trusted their servants and guards not to snoop. Despite D'Eon's urging, His Majesty had been reluctant to destroy his more incriminating letters. "No…" Etienne glanced away, confirming D'Eon's fears with regards to the letters.

"Robbie?" D'Eon glanced over to where Robbie was polishing his boots.

"Not _moi_, Sir D'Eon," the guard pleaded his innocence. "I wasn't near them, but there was a new chap about earlier… Blond, fairish. Toting a book under his arm."

Natalia cursed under her breath and hurried over to the drawer. As they feared the more damning letters had been removed. Lorenza was right. D'Eon should have thrown the letters onto the fire when he first found them. It would be a matter of time before all hell broke loose. The royal family was in danger if the letters were to be used against them and the more moderate fractions in the Council. The momentary silence was disturbing.

"Get them ready for the New World. The French would never chase a single merchant ship across the Atlantic…" Natalia advised.

"No, His Majesty fears sea travel. Austria would be the best…" Etienne urged. "Calais and onwards to England," Robbie grunted. "I'll try to get word to Sir Willie. He and the other poets could whip up a storm or something to slow any pursuers… I just need some time."

"We have to raise this before Their Majesties…" D'Eon cut in before Robbie and Etienne could start fighting again. _Should they wait it out or would it be too late?_

* * *

It was late. She looked about to ensure that she was alone before locking the door. She stood before a full-length mirror. "Max, do you know anything about those letters?" Natalia demanded as she glared into her mirror. The mystery of the disappearing letters smacked of her twin's handiwork. The mirror shimmered and her reflection faded away to be replaced by a somewhat startled Milien in his room. Her twin brother was in bed, buck naked and enjoying the company of a dark-haired woman. "Lia…" he hurriedly shoved his companion away. Charlotte winked at the mirror, smoothed down her skirt and arranged her bodice before flouncing off.

"Sorry to spoil your fun with your whore, Max. Where are those letters?"

"Charlotte's not a whore, Lia. She's my lover…" Milien grabbed for his shirt and pulled it on. "Those letters are in a safe place so long as Louis stays where he is and listens to the Council."

"You took them."

"Of course, Lia. Just make sure they stay where they are. If they flee, none of their blood will ever rule in France ever…" Milien replied ominously. "But it is all written down, isn't it? They will still flee." He touched the book he had on his bedside table.

"Not if I can help it," Natalia replied defiantly.

* * *

"Yes… The New World…" Auguste oddly seemed to have accepted Natalia's suggestion in their choice of destination for exile the next morning. Natalia had reluctantly agreed with Etienne that to remain in Paris would endanger the family's lives. If they must flee, it would be on Captain Coon's vessel, the _Lady Liberty_. The queen even made the request that the family's pets not be abandoned. Five cats and a spaniel would join the exodus. Loyal servants, allies and nobles would be rallied to aid their flight.

D'Eon was entrusted with contacting the Duke of Orleans for horses and transportation to take the family to the port of Calais and inform Captain Coon of the family's decision. They were running out of time. The knight thought it an odd choice, but the duke seemed sympathetic to their plight. "It's the next best thing to abdication, I suppose," the citizen-duke said as he took D'Eon to his stables and offered him the selection of his horses. D'Eon selected a pair of nondescript brown geldings. Robbie had sulkily agreed to be their coachman. It would take too long to send word to London secretly and muster Sir William's aid.

Captain Coon did not betray any emotion when told the news. He only hawked out a wad of chewed tobacco and handed D'Eon a bag of boiled calms for a coin. "You know we leave with the tide. Don't be late," he warned.

Etienne had added another touch of his own to the plan. There were to be two parties of coaches and horses. An empty coach would head for the Austrian border as a decoy at the same time the royals fled for the port. _Can the servants and coachmen hired be trusted?_ D'Eon asked. The redhead eagerly assured him they were trustworthy.

The children Marie Therese and Charles Louis were bewildered and excited by the secrecy about them. They were taught not to discuss the preparations going on with anyone. The children's former nanny would dress up as a noblewoman and lead the decoy procession off for Austria with a few servants. She would change back to her normal identity in a small border town and double back to her home in Paris. Natalia would travel with them. Robbie, Etienne and D'Eon would be entrusted with the safety of the king and his family.

_What would happen if the guards caught up with the servants and found out their deceit? Would they suffer?_ Natalia ensured her uncle that she would never allow any harm to befall the servants.

Robbie was restless throughout all this and D'Eon wondered if he was under orders to ensure the French royal family wound up in London. Etienne was bursting with energy and fervour such that D'Eon had never seen in him before. He understood that perhaps Etienne was adamant that the queen be safe. He could trust Etienne to guard Their Majesties with his life. D'Eon took out his sword and studied his reflection in the blade. He was a skilled swordsman, every bit as able as he was in his youth. He trusted both his students' skills but doubted Robbie's loyalty, even if they were united against the new government of France.

* * *

The day of their flight dawned bright and sunny. The coaches have been loaded. The decoys would leave first. D'Eon saw the nanny being helped into the first coach by Madame Labelle. A group of servants had taken their place in the second coach. With a crack of the whip, the coaches were off.

They waited an hour but no hue and cry was raised by the guards. D'Eon went out to the streets but found nothing untoward. When he returned, Robbie was already at the reins of his coach. A second coach, curtains drawn, waited for D'Eon. D'Eon could hear meowing from within.

"The cats are restless, sir. Must keep the curtains drawn," Robbie explained.

"How are the children?"

"Asleep, I'll drive steady." They had separated the family. The children would ride in Robbie's coach while D'Eon drove the parents. D'Eon swallowed hard as he took the reins. He had never driven a coach of this size before, even if he had driven the odd horse-cart back in Russia. He checked on the pistol in his belt and the sword on his box. Robbie was armed with a pistol and dagger. Etienne was inside the coach with the royal children, so he need not worry. Robbie might attempt to hand the children over to English, but not while Etienne was in charge.

Their procession left the palace at a slow but respectable pace. Robbie had kindly provided them with the roster for the changing of guards and they timed their departures to coincide with them. A few servants had been left behind to act as if the family was still in residence. Meals would be sent up to the royal bedrooms as usual.

D'Eon had rubbed walnut into his hair to darken it and worn the garments of a common coachman. He had rubbed some grime onto his cheeks for the appearance of stubble. Robbie had exchanged his guard's uniform for the clothes of a young dandy. He had brushed his grey horses until they shone like silver. He looked like some disreputable nobleman and D'Eon hoped he would not be stopped by any unfriendly revolutionary they should encounter on the road. Captain Coon had left Paris a few nights before to round up his crew and prepare his ship. They just had to make it to Calais.

Robbie thundered on ahead. D'Eon yelled at him to slow, certain the children within must have been roused by the potholes they were bouncing over. Robbie yelled back something about not missing their boat.

The first signs of trouble came when they reached the docks. The _Lady Liberty_ was still at anchor. Flanked by several of his men, Robin was standing on the docks inspecting the cargo manifest of the _Lady Liberty_ while a nonchalant Captain Coon sat and watched. Clucking to the horses, Robbie eased them to a slow trot. D'Eon followed his example.

"So what if I enjoyed Lafayette's company over a few drinks in Paris? He's a friend," Coon replied under questioning. "Nothing untoward about my pickled eels, right? Our cargo of raccoon pelts have been sold off. Picked up a few curios and art pieces for my place too." The sea captain refused to be intimidated so easily.

"Ah, this nude Venus would probably have our Puritans in fits," Coon jestingly unveiled a semi-erotic oil painting of Venus. "Perhaps you need a woman like this to take your mind off things a bit, you stick-in-the-mud. May I recommend the services of some ladies in Paris or have they all banned your ugly face from their establishments?"

Robespierre threw the papers back at the harbourmaster in disgust. Captain Coon had nothing suspicious on his cargo, ship or crew. In doing so, he turned and caught sight of D'Eon. Before D'Eon could look away, their eyes met. D'Eon cracked the reins, urging the horses into a gallop.

"Stop that coach!"

**Author's Notes:**

The great escape is going to run into a few hiccups.


	81. Desperate Escape

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

The big escape.

**Chapter 81 – Desperate Escape**

"Stop!" D'Eon ducked as a musket blast was fired over his head. Robbie was shouting something in English but he could not make out the words. Captain Coon was barking orders to his crewmen. The horses were in a panic now from the ruckus. Robin yelled at his men, who were running after D'Eon's coach with their firearms. The French knight grabbed his own pistol in hand. D'Eon felt himself losing control of the panic-stricken horses as they turned a corner. The coach teetered on two wheels before crashing in a tangle of horses, wheels and traces. D'Eon was thrown clear of the coach and into a pile of fishing nets.

Barely feeling the pain of his bruises, he struggled to his feet and grabbed his sword. The pistol had fallen out of his grasp in the crash. The coach was lying on its side, the wheels spinning uselessly from their own momentum. The revolutionaries were at the coach now, tugging at the door. It popped open.

"Stand back!" D'Eon shouted as he ran towards the men. _Was Auguste hurt, or worse?_ There was a hell-cat scream as a furious cat leapt into the face of the man at the door. Four more cats leapt out of the coach. The queen's pampered pets had been transformed into furious balls of fur and claws. They attacked the revolutionaries. Captain Coon and his crew had surrounded the incapacitated men. One burly sailor tried to grab hold of Robespierre, but he was too quick. Robespierre dodged under the man's outstretched arms and shimmied onto the coach.

Oddly, Robespierre was concerned about the well-being of the royals. He did not wish them to be hurt, but he could not allow them to leave France. D'Eon grabbed hold of his bad leg and yanked him off balance. The redhead crashed on top of D'Eon. The pair grappled with each other. D'Eon had not expected the slight-built Robin to have that much strength in him. Captain Coon grabbed this opportunity to jump up onto the coach.

"Empty!" he shouted to his crewmen. Both captain and crew backed off, heading for the safety of their vessel. Oddly, the cats also abandoned their attack on the revolutionaries and ran with the crew. It was then that D'Eon saw Robbie's coach. Feigning innocence, Robbie had parked it alongside the curb. Natalia was leaning half-out of the window.

"Uncle, run!"

Was the family with her in that coach? Or had they made use of his distraction to flee for the _Lady Liberty_? Captain Coon and crew were loading his vessel with utmost haste. D'Eon caught a glimpse of a feline tail wrapped about the captain's shoulders. Marie Antoinette's precious cats were being carried up the gangplank and to the New World. Catching onto the deception, the revolutionaries had regrouped and turned their attention on Robbie's coach. Immediately, Robbie chose flight, abandoning his coach. He ran into the maze of back alleys. Three of the revolutionaries followed him. Robbie was wily and would lead them on a wild-goose chase, so D'Eon hoped.

Natalia drew her rapier in one hand and cocked her pistol in the other. She kicked the coach door open, knocking the man who had been approaching it onto his ass. She was wearing a gown, one of the queen's plainer ones, which hampered her escape. The discarded wig lay on the floor of the coach. The royals were not with her and she was quite alone. Slamming Robespierre's head back into the cobblestones to stun him, D'Eon ran towards her and took out one of their opponents with his still-sheathed sword. Both uncle and niece readied their weapons and faced their foes. Their dire situation soon became apparent.

"Where're they?" D'Eon hissed. There was no way the royal family, so unused to running, had made it across the docks to the _Lady Liberty_ so soon. Already the ship was hoisting anchor and casting off. True to his word, Coon would not risk his men lingering in port. The new French laws would not deal kindly with them as foreigners.

"I thought they were with you…" Natalia gasped. Realization dawned on her. "Robbie and Etienne…" she cursed under her breath. The royal family must be well on the road to the Austrian border by now.

"Arrest them!" Robespierre shouted as he picked himself up with blood running down his face. He had been wounded falling from the coach. His clothes were torn and scuffed from fighting with D'Eon. He pulled out his own firearm and pointed the pistol at D'Eon.

"We yield…" Natalia announced and threw her weapons to the ground. Immediately, she was roughly seized. D'Eon threw his weapons to the cobblestones and was similarly arrested.

"De Beaumont, where are they?" Robespierre asked.

"Who, Robin?" D'Eon asked mildly.

"The king…"

"In the palace I suppose," D'Eon lied with a grin. Someone hit him in the mouth with a fist. Blood dribbled from his lip.

"Perhaps the king has long left for London," Natalia mused. She dropped her voice. "You could not tell if it were the queen or me standing on that balcony in Versailles. You could have been mistaken about the royal family ever being in Tuileries." With an oath, one of Robespierre's goons raised his hand to hit her but was restrained by his master. Milien would not take kindly to his dearest sister being hit.

"Take them back to Paris," Robespierre said quietly. Milien was right about D'Eon being a decoy. The redhead hoped his protégée was having better luck. Their spies in the duke's household had reported the preparations for the escape. His bad leg was acting up again, no thanks to D'Eon. He grabbed a stick from a nearby cart and used it to support his weight.

"Oh, and have the Duke of Orleans taken into custody the minute he shows up at the National Assembly tomorrow," Robespierre added as an afterthought. "It's clear that the nobles and their lackeys were not to be trusted. Throw them into the prison!"

* * *

In the shadows of his dingy room, Jean Paul chuckled as he observed the happenings in Calais. The redhead was so susceptible to his suggestions once bereft of the protection of his poets. "Wine!" he bellowed. "I called for it ages ago, you wretch!" he turned and struck the cowering serving girl who came scurrying with it. "Now get ready for me a bath and a woman!"

The terrified girl fled from the room. Charlotte watched quietly from the hall. Milien was right about the poet Jean Paul being a bad influence on the assembly. She had to send word to Madame Roland and the others.

* * *

"Master Maximilien… here they come…" a scout gasped as he came to a stop before their blond leader. He had been sprinting through the mountain paths to get ahead of the procession. They had set an ambush on the highway just outside the last town before entering Austria. The increase in troop activity just across the border had not gone unremarked on. Milien had watched their manoeuvres through his spyglass for many mornings. He could guess at the Emperor's game.

The moment the royal family entered the safety of Austria, their armies would launch an attack under the banner of restoring the Bourbons to the throne. Within a few days, their cousins, the Spanish Bourbons, would also enter the fray and France would be carved up between Austria and Spain. The Italians would probably try to invade from the south as well; England from the north. It would be a disaster, but one he was set to prevent.

The going for the escapees was slow and difficult given the constant rains which turned the road into mud. Lia had been quiet. She had not spoken to him since that night but their spies had informed them that the governess would travel with the children. He had to make sure his twin was unhurt. This was the worst disagreement they had had ever. Never had she seemed so distant from him.

Darkness was falling. _Would they proceed or stop for the night?_ Milien had paid a boy at the local inn to send word if the coaches were to arrive there. The lad had not sent word. Perhaps the royals had decided to risk it. The pass was treacherous at night and there was always the danger of going over the side.

There came the sound of hoof-beats, followed by the lights of a procession of two coaches. Milien signalled to his men with his lantern before hurrying to the road.

"Your Majesty, please stop, a citizen of France beseeches you!" Milien stood in the centre of the road and called out. The coachman pulled on the reins, pulling the horses short before he was trampled. It was Etienne. Milien could recognize that naïve redhead anywhere. The redhead would have placed himself with the royal family to protect them. That was the coach they had to stop.

"Oh, Mil, just let us pass!" the former captain retorted.

"You don't see, do you? The armies of Austria are poised for invasion. Will you deliver our monarch to the enemy?" Milien kept talking. He did not want to fight his friend. Under the cover of night, the men moved in. "What will happen when Austria has the king and dauphin? War on the pretext of restoring them the throne!"

"The only enemy of the king is your crew of revolutionaries who seek his death!" Etienne shouted. He drew his sword, forcing Milien to draw his in reply. Soon metal rang off metal as the men fought.

Within the coach, Charles Louis clung onto his mother's skirts. Marie Antoinette glanced in fear through the crack in the drawn windows of their coach. No light had been lit within to prevent the occupants' identities from being revealed. Marie Therese had just been roused from slumber by the sudden stop and was rubbing her eyes beside her father.

"Papa, I'm scared…" the young dauphin whined.

"It's alright," Auguste coaxed his son. Charles Louis, who would one day be King Louis XVII, reminded Auguste of his younger self.

"S-sorry, Papa… for being s-scared…"

"There's nothing wrong with being scared… Sometimes, we get scared too," Auguste glanced out of the window. There was some commotion outside. Their coach was moving. Etienne had come up with the plan earlier along the road. Old Gasper would switch places with Etienne driving the royal's coach. Auguste felt a pang of regret at the fate that no doubt awaited Etienne and the servants once the deception was discovered. Gasper was spurring the horses on quietly, so that they might slip past.

"It's a dirty trick!" The men had surrounded the coach, forced the door and dragged its occupants out – an elderly man and woman dressed as nobles. The pair was pinned down in the mud. They were definitely not the king or queen.

Milien paused. A wounded Etienne lunged with his sword. Milien dodged. The sword blade slashed into the flank of the horse behind Milien. The poor beast whinnied and reared.

"Etienne! Watch out!" Milien shouted a warning as he rolled clear of the flailing hooves. Etienne threw himself clear of the hooves but he was too slow. A hoof caught him on the side of the skull and he stumbled backwards. The other coach was thundering past and the redhead fell under the wheels. There came the sound of bones breaking.

"Etienne!" Milien dashed forward and bent over the limp form in the road. Etienne was alive, just barely. One of Milien's men fired a shot over the driver's head, ordering him to stop. Of course the driver did not stop.

"Doctor! Get him a doctor! Horses! After that coach!" Milien yelled out orders. A quiet fury blazed within him. The men hastened to obey. Leaping his saddle, Milien kicked in his spurs and took off after the coach.

It was travelling too fast for the road. There was a sharp turn after which the road narrowed thanks to a recent landslip. At that speed…

Milien's fears were confirmed when the coach pitched suddenly. The horses stumbled. The coach door popped open. A tiny figure was thrown out. "Papa!" The dauphin would have fallen into the valley below if it weren't for Auguste catching hold of his shirt. A woman inside was screaming with fear. The queen was paralysed with fear. Holding on with one hand to the jostling coach, Auguste could not get firm enough a grip on his boy. The little boy was too terrified to act. A pair of thin arms reached out from the coach and grabbed the young prince's arm. The princess started pulling her brother back in.

"Slow down!" the king ordered. The coach was travelling too fast for them to pull the boy in. Milien spurred his horse on. The driver suddenly realised the danger his young passenger was in and pulled up the reins. The moment it slowed, Milien leapt onto the back of the coach and clambered over the top. With the butt of his pistol, he knocked the coachman unconscious and pulled the horses to a stop. The other men soon caught up with them and the family was forced to disembark.

"Natalia?" Auguste blinked in the weak lantern light. Milien looked so much like his sister. "No, you are not her… but I feel we have met before…"

"Perhaps, Your Majesty. We really must insist you and your family return to Paris," Milien replied curtly. "Jacques, let the children travel with their mother. The king will travel with me under close guard." Milien watched as his companions hastened to obey. One led the horses round. The children were wide-eyed with fear and their mother was quietly sobbing. The nanny, who had been disguised as a noblewoman, was ordered to ride with them. The coach rumbled off with three of Milien's men on the box and at the rear.

"Don't harm Marie or the children… please," Auguste sounded distressed when his family was hastened from his sight.

"We are not in the business of harming children or women, sir. Now after you," Milien smiled and gestured for the king to enter the coach. Auguste took a deep breath and stepped on board. Milien followed. A doctor would be called to see to the unconscious Gasper. The old man was breathing in an odd way that disturbed Milien. He did not mean to hit him that hard. He would like to stop and check on Etienne's condition but his duty called. The royals must be returned as soon as possible.

It was then that it dawned on Milien that his sister was not on any of the coaches. If she had been on the other coaches headed for Calais, he prayed that she and their uncle were unscathed.

**Author's Notes:**

Some discord in the ranks for the revolutionaries. Robin/ Robespierre is going to make some really questionable decisions down the road. Milien is turning out to be a fine leader of the revolutionaries.

There is a folktale about the Maine Coon (a type of cat) being descended from Turkish Angoras belonging to Marie Antoinette. The cats were carried off to the New World by a sea captain as part of a failed attempt to rescue the royals. The cats managed to get on the ship, but not their royal mistress.

Historically, the French royal family attempted to flee for Austria but were discovered in Varennes. They had the children's nanny disguised as a noblewoman and the royal couple as her butler and maidservant. Legend had it that the king bought something at a store en route and the shopkeeper recognised him from the coin used to pay him.


	82. Poet Showdown

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 82 – Poet Showdown**

The prison was overcrowded. Robespierre's cronies had not wasted any time in rounding up the remaining nobles in France, their servants and anyone unfortunate enough to be implicated with them. D'Eon and Natalia had been escorted back to Paris and imprisoned. The dungeons were dim, damp and reeked of sweat, urine and vomit. The men and women had been separated and D'Eon did not know if his niece was well. He could only hope that their jailers had the kindness to house the women and children in more comfortable surroundings. He found himself sharing a mouldy loaf with a young marquis, a watch-maker and a footman.

"What will happen to us?" the young nobleman bemoaned his fate. He could not have been much older than sixteen. He and his mother had been returning to Paris for the funeral of his father when they were arrested. The old watch-maker's cough had worsened with their damp surroundings and he constantly gasped for air. The footman was one of the Duke of Orleans' and he informed D'Eon that his master had been arrested and imprisoned in a separate cell. "They did not make it, did they?" the man stated matter-of-factly. "We believed in the reforms and the Assembly… what has happened?" D'Eon had no answer to give.

Time passed by. D'Eon became aware that some of his fellow prisoners were taken away and new ones added during the irregular meals of rotten bread and thin soup. Some were dragged away by the guards while a few were carried out, their souls having quit their mortal remains. A number of the prisoners were sickly to start with and a few had been badly beaten during the arrests. There was a priest and a doctor in the forty or so prisoners in their cell. They were constantly busy administering to the sick and wounded. The footman was soon summoned by the guards and D'Eon did not see him again. D'Eon was not too surprised when he awoke to find the old watch-maker stiff and dead beside him. He only crossed himself and motioned for the priest to come over.

* * *

"_Oh, Robin. What have you done this time?" _Robespierre snapped out of a dream. He fancied he was a pageboy again, amusing Lady Anna and Her Majesty with some anecdote of his adventure outside the palace when Lady Lia walked in. He blinked his eyes. He thought he could see her disapproving look reflected in the window glass. It must be just a quirk of the light. A dull lethargy had settled on him the past few days. The affairs of the National Assembly seemed so tiresome. Thank goodness Jean Paul was there to make sense of it for him. _Why had he disliked the man so much? Was it Yvette or Lorenza who had influenced him? Milien was never fond of the pockmarked poet either… _

Jean Paul would be his partner in the founding of a republican France. True, his methods might be a little crude but… _"Not only the nobles, Robespierre… but the people too. We cannot be soft-hearted. We need a form of justice, swift, inflexible…"_ What had he called it? He had seen that device – the guillotine. He had given orders for one to be built in the square before Notre Dame. The riches of the monasteries and convents would be put to good use strengthening the republic. Had he not agreed to all Jean Paul's proposals over the objections of the others? Madame Roland had been the most vocal but what did she know as a woman? Jean Paul had rightly pointed out.

Yes, all opposition must be swiftly dealt with. The king must face trial for treason against the people in his flight to the enemy, Austria. _What was taking Milien so long?_

* * *

The return to Paris was slow. They had to stop when the young dauphin took ill with a fever from the shock he experienced. Thankfully, the fever soon broke after two nights and he was well enough to travel. Auguste was not allowed to meet with his family except for one hour at the bedside of his sick son. Milien knew he had to keep them separated until Paris, in case they tried to escape. Riding in the same coach as the king proved to be a trial on his patience. Auguste protested vehemently about their treatment. Milien had sent a messenger ahead to inform his master of the capture of the royal family and their servants.

Milien fully expected a rebuke from his master for his tardiness. However, the reception they received was far from what he expected. When they reached the palace, they were surprised by a dozen of Jean Paul's armed lackeys. "The prisoners come with us," their leader demanded curtly and the men started pulling the servants out of the ox cart they were riding in and manacled them.

"This is unnecessary!" Milien shouted and some of his men protested. They were manhandled as well and blows were exchanged. The guards guarding the coaches left their stations to go to their comrades' aid.

"Enough!" Auguste made use of the distracted guards to exit his coach. Everyone froze. It was rare for the king to raise his voice. His family also made use of the commotion to escape the confines of their coach. "We will leave peacefully with you. There is no need for such violence. Sirs, we beseech your kindness…" Auguste pleaded.

"Enough talk! They must leave with us! Orders of Master Robespierre. Back to your coaches, Your Majesties…" the leader mocked. Milien glared daggers at the man. He strode over to one of the coaches and whispered.

"_Let all mine enemies be sore vexed, by you alone let them return and be ashamed suddenly." _The power of the Psalms pulsed familiarly through him and into the wooden coach frame. With a resounding crack the axle snapped and the coach tilted to the side. "One of the coaches is damaged. Have them ride in the same coach," Milien shrugged.

"_Merci_…" Auguste whispered. He had noticed Milien's actions. "Go your family," Milien urged. Auguste, Marie and the children got into the coach and Milien took his seat on the box. "I'll drive," he said coldly and stared at Jean Paul's mob, daring them to challenge him. They did not.

On arriving before the prison, Milien was dismayed to find hordes of confused men, women and children being herded into the building. Some of the men were wounded. To his horror, he saw a familiar face, Etienne. The redhead was pale and his captors were dragging him across the courtyard. His legs were twisted at an awkward angle.

"Unhand him! The man's injured!" Milien shouted and leapt from his perch. "Unhand him!" Milien ran forward but he had lost sight of Etienne. The guards made use of this opportunity to force the family out of the coach and into one of the prison towers. Milien caught a fleeting glimpse of one of the women's skirts as she was dragged into the tower. The servants had been forced to disembark from their cart and were soon lost among the other prisoners. He hastened to the chief warden's office.

"Sorry, Master Robespierre's orders…" the man shrugged. "Look here, lad. We have wounded and sick men, women and children crammed fifty to a cell. Tell your Master we cannot take in any more prisoners… I can't go about arresting infants. The citizens will not like it…"

"The royals…"

"Master Robespierre has given orders that separate cells be provided for them. I will try to have the children housed with Her Majesty…" the warden promised.

* * *

"Master Robespierre! What is the meaning of this?" Milien shouted as he stormed into Robespierre's office. A dazed Robespierre looked up from his papers. He was not alone. Milien's eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the other occupant.

"Jean Paul…" It was clear the pockmarked poet had been influencing his master. If the poet wanted to play dirty, he would. Milien marched over to the poet and seized his arm. He placed his hand on the book he kept sewn in his coat pocket.

"_Be wise now, O ye kings. Be instructed, ye judges of the earth…"_ The malignant words flowed onto the poet's flesh, to Milien's satisfaction.

"_The wrath of the Lord can flare up in but a moment. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him."_ Jean Paul was fighting back with his own poems.

"_Help, Lord; for the godly men ceaseth; for the faithful fail from among the children of men. My mouth shall spew forth thy righteousness. I lift up mine eyes unto the hills. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth…"_ Milien's shoulders sagged.

Robespierre blinked. "Mil…" he tried to stand but he felt almost paralysed. Somehow he managed to put one foot before the other. Something was very wrong. And Milien was in trouble.

"_The wicked man walk on every side; when the vilest men are exalted,"_ Jean Paul sneered as he gained the upper hand. Milien was too raw. He could not keep it up against an experienced poet.

In a prison cell, Natalia was attending to a heavily expectant seamstress. Her baby was due and the warden had sent for a midwife, but she would not be in time. The baby popped out and into Natalia's hands with a lusty wail. "Water!" she shouted and but was dismayed when her helper returned with a scoop of cold water. They cleaned him the best they could before setting him to his mother's breast to feed. She wiped her face with her sleeve. _Max… He needed her help._ She hastened to a corner of the cell where the women had hung up a cloak for privacy when using the now-overflowing chamber pot.

"_Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; the Lord will receive my prayer…" _she chanted softly, adding the power of her poems onto her brother's.

"_Let all mine enemies be sore vexed by you alone let them return and be ashamed suddenly." Lia._ He could sense his twin's presence. Jean Paul gasped in agony as the tide turned against him. He tried to pull free but the Psalms held him fast.

"_Put them in fear O Lord, that the nations may know themselves to be -" _both twins chanted. Jean Paul saw his chance. Robin had been struggling to walk, to approach the pair. He kicked out at Robespierre's shin, causing him to pitch forward into Milien. Distracted, Milien caught his master before he hit himself on the sharp edge of a nearby table. The poet made his escape. Milien cursed under his breath. Hopefully, he had used enough of the Psalms on Jean Paul to incapacitate him. He was weak, like a new-born kitten. At least his master was back to himself…

"Mil!" The last thing he recalled before blackness was Robespierre calling his name.

* * *

D'Eon looked up as another batch of prisoners was shown in. The last one was dragged in by the arms and thrown into a pile of mouldy straw. Pushing through the milling prisoners, D'Eon immediately hurried over. There was something familiar about him. Gingerly, he rolled him onto his back. "Lord, Etienne! Doctor! Over here!" His student was burning up with fever and did not seem to be aware of what was happening.

The doctor's prognosis was grim. "His shin-bone's shattered. A fracture in the other one not properly set. His leg should have been taken off before the rot set in." He eased the muddied shoes and stockings off his patient. The skin was discoloured and oozed pus. The infection had spread into the blood.

"D-does not hurt…" Etienne murmured. _Brave Etienne…_ D'Eon cradled his head in his lap. Etienne's clothes were filthy. He wiped the redhead's fevered face the best he could with his sleeve.

"Back injury. He feels nothing below the waist and has no control over his bladder and bowels. If he lives, he'll be bedridden for life…" the doctor whispered and placed a comforting hand on D'Eon's shoulder. "Pray for him, sir. He hasn't long…" he shuffled off to allow him some privacy with Etienne. The redhead fought the fever and infection for hours as his teacher held him and whispered both prayers and encouragement into his ears. Occasionally, he would bring water in his cupped hands for the patient to slake his thirst. He did not want Etienne to die.

"S-sir D'Eon… I-I'm sorry… I can't continue…" Etienne's eyes fluttered open and stared straight into his before they closed forever.

"It's fine, Etienne…" D'Eon whispered. "You have fought long enough…" Etienne's soul fled. For close to an hour, he held his student's body and wept. Nearly blinded by his tears, he laid the redhead down and allowed the wardens to take him away for burial. The tears were still falling when a guard entered the cell and called out his name.

"D'Eon de Beaumont! Come with us!"

* * *

He was safe for now, secreted away in rooms belonging to one of his loyal supporters. He had tried to heal himself with poems but they could only do so much. Jean Paul cursed Milien as he poured water over his burning skin. The blond brat meant to kill him. His skin was blistered and blackened. He lowered himself into the tub of icy water. The water cooled his fevered flesh a little. He was not going to be defeated so easily.

Closing his eyes, he reached out mentally to that redhead revolutionary, Master Robespierre. Yes, the strings were not fully cut. _Robespierre would be his puppet. _

Even if his body were to perish, he would make life hell for his rival. _And that brat would pay._

**Author's Notes:**

A sad farewell to Etienne and Milien is having a rough time. More troubles for Robespierre and Milien.


	83. Start of a New Order

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 83 – Start of a New Order **

"Monsieur Durand! Here's the prisoner you seek."

D'Eon was roughly shoved out into the yard of the prison. It was night and the crescent moon gave enough light for him to make out the stranger in the yard. 'Durand' was a slight-built man with a shuffling gait. A scarf, cloak and hat obscured his identity. He was too short to be Durand, D'Eon mused. He tossed the jailer a bag of coins. The jailer poured out and counted the coins in his palm.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Monsieur," the jailer disappeared back within the prison. 'Durand' shoved D'Eon in the direction of the corpse-cart. The cart was laden with corpses waiting to be transported to the public cemetery.

"Get in," he whispered in English into D'Eon's ear before shoving him in. "Whatever happens, do not move nor make a sound." D'Eon found himself sandwiched between Etienne's dead body and a woman, who looked very familiar under the grime.

"Natalia?" he breathed, trying hard not to gag on the stench from the older bodies. Natalia opened her eyes, nodded slightly and closed them. She had been crying, for Etienne, perhaps. Robbie soon returned without his earlier disguise. Monsieur Durand was gone. Now he was just plain old Jean Baptiste, a lowly guard hired by the Assembly. He hitched up a tired nag to the cart. There were at least five real corpses in the cart and Robbie hoped they would be enough to deter a thorough search.

"Sorry…" he shifted the corpses so that both Natalia and D'Eon were partially covered by the corpulent corpse of an elderly woman. "Benedict! We'll be seeing you then!" he called out a friendly farewell to a passing guard as he tugged the reins, leading his cart out of the prison yard. It seemed like hours before the cart stopped and their rescuer pulled the corpse away from them.

"You're safe now," Robbie grinned impishly. "Robbie, how can we thank you?" D'Eon blinked and climbed out. Dawn was breaking over the rooftops. They were at the Tussads' place.

"Easy. Change into a work smock, grab a shovel and help me with the burials," Robbie said. A waiting Francois held out a set of peasant's garments to D'Eon. He pointed to a nearby wash-barrel and asked if they wanted to wash. D'Eon took the clothes gratefully and hastened to the barrel. He really needed to remove the stench of death from his skin. Annemarie was peering at the faces of the corpses.

"Oh dear, this is Countess Valerie Marie Valois. Her heart was always dicky. I'd have to make a death mask for her. And is that Sir Michel's son, Etienne?" she methodically sifted through the dead, identifying them where possible. The Tussads had offered their expertise and home for a morgue. The cemetery was just a few doors away. "Move Madame Valois into the shed. Her family might want her interred in their vault later. Do you wish to have Etienne buried in an unmarked grave or prepared for a proper burial at a later date?" Annemarie asked.

"Etienne would not mind being buried with them. He'll be in good company," Natalia replied weakly and nodded at the corpses. She was pale and did not look well at all. "Perhaps a simple grave marker would suffice," Annemarie suggested as she hastened to help Natalia out of the cart. The young woman was feverish and needed tending.

"Sir D'Eon. Annemarie and me, we do not agree with the recent changes in the Assembly. We will do all we can to help you," Francois said. "Camille and Madame Roland, they do not agree either. This is worse than what we had under King Louis XIV, our dear Sun King or the Beloved Louis XV. Imprisoning children? Sending innocents to the gallows? No. This was not what we fought for. They say Robespierre is behind it, but I suspect Jean Paul put him up to it. With luck, we could convince the Assembly they are a pair of lunatics and have them locked up."

"Will not work. Robespierre's eloquence is legendary. He could convince the pope to abdicate if he set his mind to…" Annemarie retorted. "Madame Roland has been speaking to Charlotte. Watch that girl well. I do not trust her good sense, especially when that blond young man is concerned."

* * *

Robin knew he had to fight but he was not strong enough. W_ho was Robespierre exactly?_ He barely knew the real Maximilien Robespierre. _Was he doing the right thing for France? Was he doing what he would have done?_ The doubts came fast and furious and before he knew it, he was in Jean Paul's room. _Why would he be there?_ Madame Roland warned…

_Madame Roland is a fool!_ A voice hissed in his mind, jarring as fingernails on slate. Jean Paul was winning. The others did not know the struggle within him. They only saw his growing friendship with the hated poet and hated him for it. Robin moaned and bent his head low, so that it was level with his knees. He feared he was losing his mind. Perhaps Milien would take charge and lock him up in an asylum for the rest of his days.

Jean Paul was naked and soaking in a bathtub. Yes, he must be going crazy. Why should Jean Paul be taking a bath while he had a visitor? The man's skin was writhing as if with worms. Yet he was talking of… _What was he talking about? Trying Auguste? Sending him to the guillotine?_ He had to address the Assembly tomorrow. He shouldn't be here. He should be with poor Milien who was still in bed with a fever…

"Robespierre! We need to make an example of the man! The very root of the cancer of the nobility must be purged…"

"Even the children?" Robespierre gasped.

"Especially the children. They must be raised with the ideals of the republic, away from their corrupting parents…" Robespierre was too tired to protest. He seemed to be less in control of his actions, even his thoughts seemed to take on a life of their own.

_Was it the same with Sir D'Eon when Lia's soul possessed him?_ He recalled D'Eon had been horrified by his actions committed whilst under his sister's influence. But Jean Paul was very much alive… It hurt too much to think. It was like his brain was being skewered with red hot rods. It was so much easier to listen and agree.

* * *

_He was back in the catacombs below the city. Milien felt the damp wall with his hand as he walked along. A river ran through the tunnel. There was a boat there bobbing in the water. Silently, Etienne sat in it, his face pale in the flickering light from the torches. An ominous feeling washed over Milien. Two cloaked boatmen were dipping their oars into the inky water, pulling away from the stone wharf. They were Yvette and Sir Michel. They did not acknowledge Milien's presence._

_"Wait, Etienne…" Milien called out. He did not want the redhead to go. He understood somehow that his friend was leaving forever. Someone clapped a hand on his shoulder._

_"Don't you have some matters to attend to, boy? You cannot change what was happened or will happen …" It was a tall blond man, the same one he had seen on many occasions…_

"Mil… you are awake," Charlotte's voice greeted him as he returned to consciousness. She kissed him on both cheeks. "You have us all worried."

"Where's Master Robespierre?" Milien asked. He was in his room. Charlotte was sponging his forehead with a damp rag. The girl must have been tending to him throughout the night.

"He's gone to Jean Paul's place, against Madame Roland's best advice. _Again._ The man's poison!" Charlotte spat. She wrung out the rag with all the vehemence she felt. She cooed soothingly as she sponged his brow. "Camille has gone to attend the Assembly meeting earlier…"

"Charlotte, what do they intend to do with the royal family?" Milien asked. Charlotte paused but did not reply. It was Camille, barging in through the door who unwittingly answered.

"Charlotte! Mil! Master Robespierre and Jean Paul will have the king tried for treason. It's the guillotine for him if he's found guilty! And they'll likely try the queen too…"

"Jean Paul! He lives?" Milien exclaimed. He had failed. Jean Paul was still a threat.

"Well, he did look like he was stricken with some skin condition," Camille admitted. "He has festering sores over his limbs and face… but he refused the offer of a doctor. Your Master, Mil, was like eating out of his hand."

"What of the children?" Milien asked. The dauphin and his sister were mere children. Surely they did not intend to try children. "I do not know," Camille admitted. "The Assembly elected to leave the matter of the children in Master Robespierre's hands."

"Let me go fix that damned poet Jean Paul!" Milien raged and tried to get out of bed. Both Charlotte and Camille pounced on him immediately.

"Do not be foolish! Mil," Charlotte shouted. "Leave this to Madame Roland. You are still unwell." Milien was in no state to take on Jean Paul.

"I've inform Madame Roland. She advises us to wait… I take my leave…" Camille hurried off. They had to be wise and cautious in their actions. The leaders of the National Assembly were under Robespierre's spell, or rather Jean Paul's. Any dissent might be taken as treason against the republic in these times.

* * *

"It will be bloody time, uncle. A reign of terror…" Natalia said solemnly as she allowed him to tend to her. D'Eon and Robbie had buried Etienne in a modest grave with a simple wooden cross with his name on it. D'Eon wished they could have a proper funeral but a quiet prayer at the graveside would have to suffice. They had work to do as grave-diggers. They had bodies to bury. It was Annemarie who put Natalia to bed in their garret room, where they hoped the air was fresher. Francois had her bled but D'Eon suspected he had been too free with it. Natalia seemed to be much weaker. Annemarie had cooked some broth for their patient and D'Eon urged her to swallow a few more spoons before taking the bowl away.

The children were helping Annemarie with the laundry. D'Eon could hear their voices from the yard below. The couple had taken in a number of children who had escaped arrest when their parents were imprisoned, housing and feeding them until their relatives could collect them. There were nobles who had been sheltered by loyal servants and friends. The Tussads were helping the children find suitable guardians and possibly escape France. Robbie was in touch with Sir William. Many of the English nobles had relatives in France and were anxious to ensure the safety of their French cousins, nephews and nieces. Downstairs, Francois was giving last-minute instructions to a pair of young brothers he would be escorting to the port for a sea journey into the waiting arms of their mother's English kin.

"They will be trying His Majesty for treason!" Camille shouted as he trotted into the yard. Francois popped his head out of the window. "That's insane talk, Camille! He's a prince of the blood and a member of the House of Bourbon. The Spanish king would not stand by when his kin is being tried like a common criminal." D'Eon hastened downstairs.

"There'll be war with the Spanish and the Austrians and once Rome decides to raise hell over the confiscation of monasteries and looting of churches…" Annemarie added. She ushered Camille into the parlour. These were dangerous times and some opinions should not be brayed aloud in the streets of Paris.

"It would be like England's Parliament era…" Robbie added as he popped out of the kitchen. "Poor King Charles I lost his head and we had a bloody civil war."

"They would not try him as a Bourbon but a Capet. That royal lineage died out centuries ago…" Camille gasped. "Not that it would stop the Spanish from launching a war on what they view as a threat to their monarchy. The American War of Independence is still fresh in their minds. It is one thing to have a republic across the ocean, but a republic in France… that would be too close for comfort…"

"There will be blood spilled… The streets will run with it…" Natalia whispered ominously as she stood on the stairway.

* * *

Robespierre retched violently into the washbasin of his room. Milien was asleep when he returned from the meeting. He felt utterly disgusted with himself. _What had he been thinking?_ Auguste was no traitor… Weak-willed, yes. Timid, yes. But definitely not a traitor. Yet they would try him for treason and send him up the platform of the guillotine. He retched again. Jean Paul. The man was somehow influencing his decisions. The thought of that pockmarked, leprous poet prying into his mind brought the gorge up. He felt utterly violated. There was nothing left for his stomach to spew but bile.

He barely had the strength to crawl between his sheets. The purging brought a momentary clarity to his mind. Jean Paul's hold seemed to have weakened for a while. Perhaps the poet was asleep, or distracted. D'Eon and Natalia. They could not be left in prison, if they were still alive… _How long had it been?_ The prisons were overcrowded and unhealthy. Robespierre forced himself out of bed and started writing a letter for their release. It was then that he saw the pocket watch on the table. He had taken it out of his pocket some days ago and not replaced it. There was a layer of dust on it. He took it into his hand guiltily and thought of its late owner. Durand. _What would Durand do?_

He glanced at the pistol in his belt. _No, he was not going to do that yet._ It would never do for Milien to awake to Master Robespierre lying across the table with his brains blown out. He was going to fight Jean Paul as long and as hard as he could.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon and Natalia are out of prison thanks to Robbie. Auguste is going to be on trial.

An unlikely alliance between D'Eon, the Tussads and Robbie the English spy.


	84. A Trial

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 84 – A Trial**

Robin stared in disbelief. Both D'Eon and Natalia de Beaumont were gone, vanished from the prison. None of the guards, damn them, thought Robin, had found the pair in the cells. They admitted that several prisoners had died and were buried in the public cemetery in unmarked graves. And, no, they did not think to record the identities of the dead. After further questioning, a guard finally confessed that he had been paid by a man to allow the pair to be released. The mysterious man gave his name as Durand. Robespierre had the offender whipped. D'Eon and Natalia had escaped. With luck, they had fled for the safety of London. He had no clue as to who the mysterious Durand was. He had little heart of pursuing the matter any further.

Somehow he had urged the Assembly to put their king on trial and there was no way he could back out now. Nursing a headache, he decided to leave early. His day was about to take a turn for the worst. He returned home to find a shamefaced Milien and Charlotte sitting on the settee in their house. An irate Madame Roland loomed behind them like some avenging angel. "Robespierre! Your protégé has gotten my Charlotte with child and we certainly demand an answer from you with regards to this! Let them be wed!"

"Get rid of the brat!" Robespierre snapped. "It may not even be yours," he turned to Milien. The vehemence in his voice shocked even him. Madame Roland sputtered in fury, Milien's eyes narrowed and he took his lover's hands in his. The look in his eyes reminded Robin of Lia.

"No, we keep the child. It is mine. If it is a boy, we'll name him Etienne. If a girl, Yvette…" Milien replied. "Master, please. I need your blessings for this, please," he reached out for Robespierre in placating gesture.

"Robespierre, we need a priest for the wedding ceremony. Release the clergy from the prisons. And the innocent…" Madame Roland pleaded.

"NO! The clergy and the other prisoners stay where they should be. Let them have a civil wedding in the Assembly offices," Robespierre snapped and brushed aside Milien's hand. "Hand me the book, Mil. I need it." _Why would he want the Book of Psalms now?_ He had willingly ceded it to Milien while the latter was still a child.

"No, Master. You do not need the book. He does not need the book…" Milien said slowly. He understood the reason behind Robespierre's uncharacteristic behaviour. Distraught by her charge's condition, Madame Roland had not read the signs.

"Then go rot in hell, you cur of an ingrate!" the redhead raised his walking-stick and struck Milien across the face. The violence stunned the women. "There will be no wedding, civil or otherwise!" Robespierre yelled as he fled from the room. He had drawn blood, hurt the boy he had raised. _The book! He needed to get the book… _He hastened to the hallway where Milien's coat hung off a hook. Milien was in the habit of carrying the book inside his coat, hidden in an inner pocket. He would not have had time to hide it if Madame Roland had come storming after him. It did not matter. He knew the boy's favourite hiding places.

The book was inside the pocket. Robespierre froze. _Would the Psalms allow him to pick it up?_ This time it yielded to his touch with such ease that he feared he had been mistaken. He tried to open it. _No, it was that accursed tome. _The book refused to open to him. Jean Paul was calling him. Helplessly, he stepped out into the street, headed for the poet's.

* * *

"The Assembly is in session!" D'Eon was no stranger to the proceedings of the Council but the situation in the council had disintegrated since he and Sir Michel last attended. Already he could see that half the attendees were drunk. One man was openly caressing a garishly-painted whore. Another was snoring, passed out from too much wine. Camille had kindly smuggled him in disguised as his assistant. He forbade his niece from attending. Camille had warned him not to show any signs of sympathy towards the accused, lest his identity be exposed.

"All rise!" The order was ignored by most. D'Eon watched a sombre Auguste was marched to the dock. His attendant, a footman who had been arrested with the family, had tried his best to make Auguste presentable but his inexperienced hand was apparent to D'Eon who had waited on Auguste for the past months. The wig was carelessly cleaned and powdered, its ribbon skewed to one side. The back of his coat was creased. There had been a mishap during the shaving and Auguste spotted a nick on his chin. At least they did not manacle him. The men, women and children in the public gallery rose respectfully at the entrance of their monarch.

"Citizen Louis Auguste Capet…"

"Shouldn't it be Auguste Louis Capet?" There was a slight disagreement in the panel.

"Excuse me, my family name is Bourbon, not Capet, though I do have ancestors of that name…" Auguste ventured.

"Silence in court! Citizen Capet! We hereby charge you with high treason against the citizens of France!" It was Robin who had spoken.

The trial was a farce. The judges were hostile to the accused. Witnesses were called to give testimony but any favourable account was quickly booed into silence and the sympathetic witness ushered from the courtroom by burly guards and their truncheons. Any attempt by Auguste to speak in his defence was greeted by jeers and missiles of balled paper, apple cores and once, a bottle which shattered dangerously close to him.

_Robin, you traitor…_ D'Eon mouthed silently as Robin rattled off a list of Auguste's crimes against the people which honestly bordered on the ludicrous. He had to fight the urge to leap out of his seat and throttle the one-time page.

The uproar by the public in the gallery was not quite what the Assembly expected. As the accusations grew wilder, the gasps of disbelief grew. The average citizen still respected their king. Finally, something snapped, about when Auguste was charged with deflowering nuns in a convent.

"Maximilien Robespierre! I take you for a liar, you knave!" some woman screeched. "Long live the king!" Her cry was picked up and missiles flew fast and furious at the judges. Bottles, rotten fruits and even a fish flew across the room. A riot broke out as the judges and Robin fled. D'Eon made use of the chaos to leave his seat and slip towards Auguste. He was too late. The guards took Auguste by his arms and dragged him out of the room as D'Eon was trying to fight through the crowd.

"You wouldn't be able to help him. D'Eon, this way!" Camille placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the main door of the courthouse to escape the riot. There was a woman with laughing eyes and a floral bonnet waiting on the street outside.

"How did I do, husband?" she gave Camille a kiss on the lips. "Like a charm, darling. D'Eon, meet my wife and soul mate, Louise Marie Desmoulins," the young man grinned.

"The average citizen still holds Louis XVI in high regard as you can see from this farce. The Assembly will not risk losing the favour of the people," Madame Desmoulins explained as she nonchalantly watched the arrival of some soldiers. "We have to turn the people against the Assembly and Robespierre," Camille explained in a whisper as they hastened away.

* * *

Robin stared at the minutes of the trial. _Had he accused Auguste of all those things? He was such a sweet child…_ Robin could still recall the young dauphin meekly tagging along behind his mother and her ladies. Jean Paul cursed and swore as he fought to open the book. The Psalms refused to yield to him. His skin blistering, the poet was forced to return to the cool water of his tub.

"The people do not support trying…" He had to speak out.

"To hell with them! Robespierre, open the book."

"You know I can't," Robin protested. No matter how much he pried, the covers refused to part for him. Secretly, that gave him some relief. The book he left on Jean Paul's table, knowing the poet was unable to lift it.

"The people was be taught by example. Louis must be found guilty and sent to the guillotine…"

"The citizens would not like this…"

"Send them to the guillotine too. All royalists must be removed…" There was a glint of madness in Jean Paul's eyes which made Robin shudder.

* * *

Milien never thought it possible that he would be a father someday. He had suffered with his sister over the loss of her child. Now he cast glances in Charlotte's direction as Madame Roland fussed over the impending wedding. Francois had confirmed the pregnancy. It had to be soon before Charlotte started showing. He wanted his master's blessings but Robespierre had been too caught up by the Assembly meetings. The king would be tried but what did that matter to him?

_He's a good man even if he is a poor king,_ Lia's voice chided. Feeling guilty, he looked up to the window of the room where his sister stayed. They were at the Tussads' to pick up a child which Madame Roland would have sent to Provenance where his kin waited.

_Lia, I'm going to be a father…_ Milien sent his thoughts to his sister.

_Impossible. It is stated in the Psalms the line ends with us…_ Natalia peered out of her window, sensing her brother below. Milien reached for his book and pulled it out. To his dismay, he found it had been replaced with a book of similar weight and size. _Had he left it at home, in the open?_ Alarmed, Milien ran off without waiting for his soon-to-be wife.

"Master!" Milien dashed into the rooms he shared with his master. Robespierre was not in. Next Milien checked all the hiding places he used. He hoped he had been mistaken and had secreted his book away. _To no avail._ His master had the book and no doubt it might be in the hands of Jean Paul. Milien cursed and chided himself for not passing the book to his sister when he had a chance to.

* * *

"I wished we could have some way of speaking with Auguste…" D'Eon fretted. _Had the king been treated well? How about his family?_ He had gone to Natalia's room to speak with Robbie. Privacy was hard to come by in a modest house like the Tussads with a steady stream of callers.

"He is well cared for, as are his family. Louis XVI has been allowed a servant to wait on him. His wife and children have their old nanny and Lady Labelle to attend to their needs. They have private chambers within the prison, away from the riff-raff," Robbie explained. "However, they are allowed no visitors and are under heavy guard. The Duke of Orleans has been allowed his clerk to attend on him and visitors, Perhaps Sir D'Eon and Natalia would like to call on the duke?" Robbie's disguise as Jean Baptiste allowed him access to news within the prison.

Natalia shook her head. The duke would be well guarded as well and his visitors carefully noted. It would be too risky. "Who has visited the duke?"

"General Lafayette's deputy. The general himself has been sent to the Italian border with his troops in anticipation of war. Camille Desmoulins and Madame Roland. Oh, and your brother, Lady Natalia. I fear his show of friendship with the duke runs counter to his master's plans," Robbie said. "Sir Willie is concerned but it is too high a risk for him to be in Paris. He believes Robespierre is under the control of another poet."

Natalia nodded. "Jean Paul. Do you know where Jean Paul hides?" The poet had not been seen at the trial. Robbie shook his head. Jean Paul had many supporters and holes in which to hide.. It was not going to be easy to find him.

"Truth is, Louis XVI fled France when she needed him most," Robbie said. He had attended the subsequent sessions with D'Eon. They had dropped some of the more ridiculous charges against the accused but the main charge of his flight from France still weighed against him.

"We can only pray that the citizens take pity on Auguste and be merciful," Natalia replied grimly.

* * *

Milien knew what he had to do. He feigned sleep when Robespierre looked in on him. "Sorry, Maximilien…" Robespierre whispered softly as he bent over him. He stroked the cheek where the ugly bruise still marred it. Milien kept still despite the slight discomfort. The gesture reminded him of the days in his childhood when his guardian would tuck him in for the night. His heart ached. There was a soft click as the door closed. The footsteps died away as Robespierre left.

Milien roused himself and hurried to the window. He had been fully dressed, boots and all under his blankets. He clambered over the window ledge and shimmied down the drainpipe. Robespierre was hurrying along by the light of the street lamps, his walking stick making a steady tap-tap on the cobblestones. Milien hurried to shadow him, dodging from shadow to shadow. Robespierre turned into a disreputable part of town and stopped before a cheap lodging house. Milien dodged into a doorway as his master glanced up and down the street to see if he was being followed.

Satisfied, Robespierre pushed the door open and entered the building. Milien hastened to follow unnoticed. Robespierre was climbing up the dim stairs. Milien followed. In his haste, the follower did not realise he was being trailed in turn. A small figure entered the building seconds after Milien disappeared up the stairway.

* * *

Natalia tossed and turned in her sleep. She cried out.

_Auguste was standing on the platform. The dreaded blade was being raised. A long, endless line of the condemned followed him to the guillotine steps. Marie Antoinette, the Duke of Orleans, many nobles Natalia recalled from her time at Versailles, including the women. There were servants too. Had it started? The ground beneath her was soaked with blood. She could hardly walk. And most awfully, the children crouched wide-eyed as they played oblivious to the gore around them. Were they waiting their turn at the guillotine? She had to find her charges, Princess Marie Therese and the dauphin. Where was her uncle? D'Eon was nowhere in sight. She glanced up to the platform. The man hoisting the blade…_

"_Maximilien! No!" He faltered and looked straight at her. "It is too late," the man replied. It was not her brother even though the resemblance was striking. There was a beautiful woman at the foot of the guillotine, beside the basket. For one moment, she thought the blond woman was holding her uncle's severed head in her hands. She called out. To her relief, D'Eon lifted his head weakly at her voice. He had not lost it at all. It was being cradled by the woman in a lap like a scared child's while his bloodied garments seemed to disappear into the brilliant red of the woman's gown. _

"_Sorry, Natalia. Sorry, D'Eon…" The woman's tears ran down her cheeks like scarlet rivers. It was the same angel who had saved her so long ago. "For the sake of France's future… this must happen…" _

"Natalia, it's alright. It is nothing but a dream. A nightmare!"

D'Eon was shaking her awake. Natalia gasped and sobbed.

"Did my cries awake you, uncle? I'm sorry…" she apologised. D'Eon was dressed in his long nightshirt and cap. He had not had time to throw on a coat or his breeches.

"I was already awake," D'Eon replied as he stroked her hair the way he did when she was so much younger and had a nightmare. He had been there in that semi-vision. He fancied he could still feel his sister's soothing hands on his head and hear the calming words whispered into his ear. She used to soothe him in the same way when he suffered from nightmares as a young child, even though they were only a few years apart in age. Madame de Beaumont was not partial to soothing children late at night, preferring to leave the task to the nursemaid. D'Eon never sought out the nursemaid then, preferring instead the company of his sister for the rest of the night.

"_Tend to Natalia, D'Eon. She will need you." _

"Auguste will die, wouldn't he? They would execute him…" Natalia wept. D'Eon did not speak as he had no reply. Instead, he held her in his arms and let her cry. He knew he would not be able to sleep anymore tonight.

**Author's Notes:**

Auguste is facing a show trial. Someone has stolen the book. Father-to-be Milien is running into danger but he has an ally. A horrible nightmare for both D'Eon and Natalia as they are both powerless to stop what will happen.


	85. Disastrous Confrontation

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 85 – Disastrous Confrontation**

"Jean Paul. You can't…" It was his master. Milien could recognize that voice anywhere. Robespierre sounded as if he were in pain. Without further ado, he burst into the room. Jean Paul was sitting in his bathtub, his skin still blistering. The book lay on the floor. Beside the book was the limp form of his master, entrapped by the poems Jean Paul had used to bind him, Now Robespierre was shambling to his feet. His lips mouthed the word '_Run_' even as his arms reached out clumsily to his charge's neck.

"NO!" Milien struggled to find the correct poems to break the spell. Jean Paul had placed poems around the room, protecting himself. Even the bathtub hosted a flotilla of papers with poems on them. He tried to reach out for aid from his sister but he could not. Instead, he saw the sad blond phantom he had encountered on more than one occasion.

"_Kill him, Maximilien. Kill him before he kills you…"_ the ghostly apparition said as he hovered outside the window. The poems Jean Paul had set up prevented him from interfering directly within the room. He was powerless to help his own son, just as he had been powerless to save his beloved in life. Milien shook his head and backed away until he was up against the wall.

"You're a fool, young Maximilien. You will die here at the hands of your loving foster father," the twisted poet cackled. Tears ran down Robespierre's cheeks as he struggled to regain control of himself. Every step he took brought him closer to Milien. Milien made a mad dash towards the poet but a chant from Jean Paul sent him sprawling across the floor, cracking his skull on the floor. Robespierre lunged at him.

Nails gouged into his eyes. Milien screamed. He could not see for all the blood. Robespierre's hands closed around his neck this time. Still blinded, Mil kicked and fought in desperation as the air was choked from his lungs. Robespierre was crying. He could sense the tears falling. Milien allowed his arm to fall away from the pistol in his belt. He was going to die here. Strangely, he felt at peace.

There was a sudden blur of movement. Jean Paul let out a short sharp shriek. The blade stabbed again and again until the water in the tub turned red. He had been so distracted with Robespierre and Milien that he had failed to notice another person in the room. When he finally saw the woman coming at him like an avenging angel, it was too late for his poems.

Gasping for breath, Robespierre lifted himself off his ward. Milien looked awful. Blood was all over his face. _His eyes… God knew how badly his eyes were hurt._ Robespierre stared at his bloody fingers.

"Don't stand there like a goose! Get him to a doctor!" their rescuer shouted and waved her bloodied fish-knife. It was Charlotte. The racket had roused the neighbours and footsteps were approaching. "Hurry! There is a back-stair behind the curtain. Madame Roland used this place before. Go!" The redhead nodded, shouldered a moaning Milien and grabbed the Book of Psalms. They could not leave it here to be discovered by the watch.

It was a good ten minutes later when they had reached the safety and darkness of the back alleys that Robespierre realize that Charlotte had not followed them.

* * *

"Francois! We need your help!" D'Eon and Natalia started at the sound of Robespierre pounding on the Tussads' front door. The entire household was soon awakened. D'Eon and Natalia threw on their night-coats. Francois might need their help in the surgery. Their struggling doctor was awake and shouting at his wife for boiled water and his box. It was then that D'Eon recognised the patient lying on the couch. Natalia shrieked in alarm at the sight of her brother and his bloodied clothes. She wildly lunged towards him, forcing Annemarie to restrain her. At the sound of his sister's voice, Milien struggled blindly to sit up, knocking over a bottle of the doctor's medicines.

"Leave! I must be allowed to tend to the patient in peace!" Francois ushered his guests from the room. D'Eon looked around for Robin. He caught a glimpse a pale Robin waiting in the parlour with a mug of fortifying brandy. The Psalms lay on the table before him, shut. He would like to speak with Robin, but that would expose the Tussads' to danger by their very presence under their roof. Instead, he followed Natalia back upstairs and hopefully before Robin saw they were there.

The patient's condition was dire even though he was not in danger of his life. His sight was most likely gone with those injuries to his eyes. That Francois was forced to admit the next morning. Against his advice, Robespierre took the patient away as soon as a bandage was tied over his ruined eyes.

"If only I could treat him…" Natalia moaned. D'Eon glanced at her. They were alone in the shed preparing a body for burial.

"Could the poems…"

"Perhaps, uncle…" she replied. "But I do not know…" After what happened with King George, Natalia had been reluctant to use her poems to heal.

* * *

Louis XVI was found guilty and sentenced to death by the guillotine. Surprisingly, even the Duke of Orleans, renowned for his support of the Assembly was also found guilty and sentenced to die on the same day as the king. Other lesser nobles and a few servants were similarly sentenced in a rash of trials. Camille's news offices were raided and the editor and his wife taken into custody. It was grim day when Annemarie Tussad's services were requested by the Assembly to make the death mask of their deposed monarch.

The morning was grey and overcast when Auguste, wan and weary from his trial and imprisonment was walked up to the platform to the sound of drums. They would have him buried in Notre Dame with his ancestors. At least it would be better than a nameless pit in the ground. D'Eon was unable to offer him any comfort in his last days. Now he and Natalia stood hidden in the crowd of onlookers. Natalia had insisted against his advice. Robespierre himself was there. D'Eon silently cursed the redhead.

"Any last words, Your Majesty?" one of the guards mocked. The drums were silenced. Auguste looked around him, at the crowd which both wept and jeered at his impending demise. The blade of the guillotine had been honed to razor-sharpness. His death would be swift. He feared for his family's safety.

"If by my death France will be restored to peace, so be it! I only pray that…" Auguste faltered mid-speech and stared straight at Robespierre. He did know the man, from his childhood days. Why, it was his mother's loyal page Robin. "Monsieur," he said quietly. He would have placed his hands around the redhead's shoulders if they were not bound behind his back. He made a desperate plea from his heart. "Robin, please, for the sake of my mother, take mercy on my family…"

D'Eon was too far away to hear his king's last words but he saw the commotion clear enough. The drummers started up the drum-roll. Robespierre, seeming paler, staggered away and almost tumbled off the platform. He had to be helped off by a guard as Auguste was secured in place. Natalia looked away at this point, unable to continue watching. D'Eon kept his eyes on Auguste to the very end when the blade sliced down and Auguste's head rolled into the waiting basket. It was over. Robbie, in the guise of Jean Baptiste the soldier, lifted the head by the hair and held it aloft for the crowd for a few heartbeats before he respectfully placed it on a cushion Annemarie Tussad had prepared. A coffin waited the body. A few onlookers took this opportunity to dip their hankies in the pool of blood at the foot of the guillotine. The sombre procession left for Notre Dame Cathedral.

The other prisoners condemned to die would not be offered such pomp. A horse cart waited to transport them to a pauper's graveyard. D'Eon took a sobbing Natalia aside and into a tavern for a tankard of ale. They would not return to the Tussads until Auguste's death mask was finished and delivered to the Assembly. He would not subject Natalia to the pain of seeing her lover's severed head. "What of the queen and the children, Uncle D'Eon?" Natalia asked.

"I do not know," D'Eon admitted as he tried to ignore the sounds of the guillotine blade falling in the square.

* * *

The experience with Auguste had shaken him. Robespierre had to admit that for once in a long time, he was himself. He had managed to get Milien to a doctor but afterwards, in a daze, he had left the patient to fend for himself in a hidden cellar below their house. Jean Paul's malignant spirit haunted him. He would do want Jean Paul wanted and hope that the ghost would give him enough peace to tend to Milien properly. Charlotte had confessed to killing Jean Paul and would be tried accordingly. He had signed a warrant for the arrests of the Desmoulins and their patron Madame Roland on the accusation of fomenting dissent, all under Jean Paul's guidance.

_The children…_ Jean Paul's voice rasped in his mind mockingly.

Robespierre groaned and stumbled. His bad leg ached. He had to grab the wall for support. _Get the children. They must be educated in the new ideas, away from their corrupting bitch of a mother…_

* * *

Milien groaned and groped about. He was blind. His head throbbed and he was still drowsy from the drugs Francois had given him to dull the pain. He had underestimated Jean Paul. Somehow Jean Paul's influence over his master was not broken yet despite the poet's death. Master Robespierre would never shove him so roughly down the cellar stairs. His knee ached. Milien's fingers closed on the familiar book of Psalms. His master had not been able to pick up the book after he put it down at the Tussads'. Milien had to pick it up and he had been reluctant to hand it to Robespierre since.

He settled back down on his bed of sacking with it clutched to his chest. He was thirsty and cold. He hoped his master would be back soon. Thoroughly miserable, he pulled his knees up to his chin. It hurt too much for him to cry. _Where was Charlotte?_ He thought he heard her voice at Jean Paul's. Maybe he imagined it. Like he imagined his sister…

_Come on, you have to move…_ It was that phantom again, or rather, his voice. _I can't do anything about your eyes but you must come with me… The Psalms cannot fall into their hands… _An icy hand took his. Milien allowed himself to be let like a child. Milien found a loose stone in the wall. Then another, and another. A hollow space was behind the wall. He crawled in, trusting his guide entirely. He could smell water, the river perhaps? The ghost of Maximilien Robespierre led his son into the catacombs which ran under Paris.

* * *

The family was waiting for him and the other leaders of the Assembly. The queen instinctively pulled her children close to her when he entered the room with his men. The old nanny bravely put herself between them and the family, only to be shoved out of the way.

"Is it not enough that they are fatherless? Must you seek to take them from their mother too?" the lady-in-waiting Labelle shouted abuse when he gave the orders for the children to be taken from their mother. Numb, Robespierre paid the protesting women no heed.

"Mama!" the dauphin, no, the young king now that his father was dead, screamed and kicked as he was roughly pulled away from his mother. He was every bit Auguste's son in his looks and manner. The princess conducted herself with amazing restrain for her age and circumstances. She clung onto a guard and pleaded for her brother. Then she saw him and pleaded with him. Marie Therese resembled her grandmother Queen Marie, whom Robin had served. He faltered.

"Please sir, have mercy on my brother. He is but a child who needs his mother. Take me if you will! But leave him!"

Her pleas and those of the women fell on deaf ears. The young boy was carried bodily from the room.

"Who should care for him?" someone said.

"The Pellers…" Robin replied. _Why had he said that?_ The Pellers were known for their cruelty to the prisoners in their care.

"Good, that will purge any notion of being royal from our young friend!" someone jested. A guard had tired of the boy's struggling and dealt him a resounding blow across the face, enough to reduce the howls into weak whimpers. Robin felt sick to his stomach. He knew he would have to return later for the princess.

"Will we be handing the girl to the Pellers as well?" Robin shook his head. It was rumoured that the elder Peller brother forced himself on the young girls in the orphanage his wife ran until it was closed down. He was not going to allow Queen Marie's granddaughter to be sullied by that wolf.

"Shall we separate the womenfolk, Master Robespierre?"

"Oui, have the nanny and Lady Labelle taken from here and imprisoned in the common dungeons to await their trials. Have Roland and Camille been arrested?"

"Both Camille and his wife. Roland has been arrested too trying to leave Paris. Will you want us to arrest the Tussads too?"

"Leave them for now, Madame Tussad makes good death masks," Robespierre remarked. "The Austrian bitch of course must be called to account. About the girl, we will keep her as a hostage against their Austrian kin…"

**Author's Notes:**

Bad day for Milien, Robin and Charlotte.


	86. A Meeting in the Catacombs

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

I am really reluctant to kill off any more characters, but you readers should know what is waiting for our heroes in the Reign of Terror.

**Chapter 86 – A Meeting in the Catacombs**

Robin knew something was amiss when he entered the cellar. It had taken him longer than expected lodging the dauphin with his new jailers. For the princess, she had agreed to leave her mother amidst much weeping. She was now housed in a solitary cell in a secure tower in a separate prison from the rest of her family. The first thing he noticed was the spilled flask of water he had left for the invalid. _How long had it been lying there?_ Guiltily, Robin reflected that he had not been in to check on the patient for an entire day since he had settled Milien in before hurrying off for the execution of Louis XVI. It was now in the wee hours of the next morning.

He found the hole in the cellar wall and cursed. Beyond it was the maze of the city's catacombs where even a sighted man would be hard pressed to find his way, much less a blind one. Milien had taken the Psalms with him as well. His protégé was gone and he did not even have a chance to apologise…

Milien was hungry. He had been sitting in the dark, dank catacombs for what seemed like an eternity. His guide had left him in the dark silence. He pulled his knees up to his chin. He was near the river, he could smell the water. The foul-tasting water slaked his thirst. The squeaking rats deterred sleep with their nipping of his fingers and ears. His head still ached. He never felt so vulnerable. Master Robespierre was not the same Master Robespierre he knew. _If only he could…_

* * *

The Tussads had taken in Camille's daughter while her parents awaited trial in prison. Her distant aunt in Provence had been written to. Hopefully, she would agree to take the child under her roof. Madame Roland had been arrested too, on a charge of abetting the murder of one Jean Paul. Charlotte, Milien's lover had already been subjected to a speedy trial and sentenced to death for that murder. A pall had descended over the household as Charlotte and Camille were childhood playmates of Francois' and Madame Roland was a mentor to them all.

"_Sir William would like to help the queen and the children, even if it is too late for the king…" _

D'Eon wondered if he had been wise in answering Robbie's summons. The Tussads were good people. He should not put them at risk allowing the Englishman plan another escape plan under their roof. Robbie had approached him on the pretext of seeing Francois for a sprained ankle. Robbie then named the catacombs as an alternative venue for their meeting. The signs Robbie left were easy enough to follow once he knew what to look for.

As the lowly revolutionary foot-soldier Jean Baptiste, the chances of Robbie ever getting close enough to the family were next to nothing. He needed help from D'Eon and Natalia. For now, D'Eon was reluctant to disturb his niece in her time of grief, so he came alone.

So caught up was he in his thoughts that he all but tripped over the beggar lying in the shade of the arch.

"Sorry, are you hurt?" D'Eon asked gently. He gasped in shock when he recognized who it was.

"Psst, Sir D'Eon, here…" Robbie poked his head out from a nearby passageway.

"Give me a hand, please," D'Eon shouldered his nephew gingerly. The bandage over his eyes had come undone. Here the catacombs opened up to the Seine and the river was reeking like an open sewer, tainted by the blood flowing into it from the nearby guillotine. D'Eon feared infection had set in.

Robbie made a face but hastened to D'Eon's aid. Milien was thin and awfully light. He could have been in there for several days, possibly even a week.

* * *

"Max!" Natalia was sitting by the fireplace knitting when they came in. Francois immediately leapt up and went to his patient's aid. The doctor had Milien lie down on the couch for his bandages to be changed and his wounds cleaned. It was too late in the night to send for Master Robespierre. Natalia sat beside her twin and took his hand in hers. The doctor shook his head slowly as he went about his work.

"Lia… Here…" Milien pressed his precious book into his sister's hands. "I cannot read it any more. You take it. Let me go back to Master…"

"No! Do not send him back there!" Natalia hissed vehemently at D'Eon. "He will kill Max!" she pleaded and threw her arms around her twin. The Tussad house was already overcrowded. In the end it was the reluctant Robbie who volunteered to share his single-room lodging. D'Eon and Robbie did not discuss any plans on how to rescue the family that night.

* * *

Robespierre was annoyed. More and more often, he found he could not trust himself. _Without Milien… perhaps…_ No, he needed the Psalms, even if he could not use them. The poet's spirit would not relent so easily. Perhaps Milien was already dead, lost in the maze of the catacombs. He had searched the tunnels as far as he dared. The widowed queen would be tried, eventually. He glanced at a list of outrageous charges to be laid to her. They would force her own children to testify against her. The dauphin's jailers had been given instructions to…

_No! He could not allow that. The boy was young and innocent, no matter how much his parents…_ Robespierre sat down to catch his breath. _Leave me be, Jean Paul. _He pleaded. Charlotte was carrying Milien's child in her belly. By all accounts, disease was rife in the lower dungeons where she was held. It did not bode well for an expectant mother. He should do something… _Never mind that bitch!_ Robin groaned and shook his head, trying to rid it of the dull ache which always preceded the blackouts.

_Where was he? _

"Are you ill?" the girl's voice cut through the fog. Yes, he had gone to the princess' cell to force her to sign a false testimony against her mother. Now the girl sat on the edge of her chair, casting worried glances at him. Finally, she reached out and touched his hand with her small one. "Shall we send for the guards?" Marie Therese resembled her grandmother, the late Queen Marie. Her touch and the concern in her voice was enough to rouse a faded memory from the recesses of Robin's mind.

_It was a bright summer day in Versailles. The toddler dauphin, in the company of his mother and his nursemaids, was playing on the lawn while the new page, Robin, fretting nervously about passing a message to a certain lord, passed them on the garden path. "No!" the young dauphin started throwing a tantrum and tossed one of his toys. The small wooden horse flew through the air and hit the hapless redhead page on the forehead, drawing blood. _

"_Oh! Are you hurt?" he was aware of footsteps hastening his way. A brown-haired woman was looking at him with concern on her face._

"_It's only a s-scratch…" he stuttered. _

He would later realize that she was Queen Marie… The same look of concern was painted on her granddaughter's face now.

"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. It is just a passing thing…" he brushed her hand aside and tore up the damning testimony he had wanted to force her to sign. Leaving the bewildered girl behind him, Robin hurried out.

He had heard a near-blasphemous theory once, put forth by some scholar in one of the coffeehouses. It was the concept of the soul returning to Earth in a new vessel. The Church taught that souls are whisked to Heaven or Hell on death depending on one's deeds in life. To have the soul in limbo- the idea of Lia's soul restlessly wandering the Earth caused D'Eon a great deal of pain. The scholar, a half-mad chap, proposed that souls who have unfinished business, such as children, were given special leave to return in a new form.

Queen Marie was nearing thirty when she was poisoned. She was in the prime of life, with a young son who still needed her guidance. Perhaps like the souls the mad scholar spoke of, she died unfulfilled and had returned in the guise of her own granddaughter… Robin laughed at the fanciful notion. Yet he had to admit that the princess' presence calmed him.

* * *

"I have located the Queen, her ladies and her children…" Robbie whispered to D'Eon. They were meeting under a bridge in a lonely part of town. Both men were drenched to the skin by the downpour. A passing citizen might mistake the pair for beggars huddling from the rain.

"The queen is being held in the Temple prison, in a cell of her own. She endures taunts and jeers from her jailers and the populace outside her window, but she has not been ill-treated in any other way. The Lady Labelle and the nanny were imprisoned in the dungeons but were released by order of Robespierre."

"Released?"

"Yes, they say that Robespierre acts strangely and is prone to showing sudden and unexplainable mercies to the same prisoners he condemns. Imprisonment has weakened the old woman much and her friends have taken her to the countryside to recover. Lady Labelle is stubbornly remaining in Paris and attempts to visit her mistress every day with little success. About the children. I hear that the girl is being treated well enough…" Robbie paused.

"Well enough? Where are the children?"

"Robespierre has taken the girl under his own guardianship. The dauphin he left in the care of a pair of jailers known for their cruelty in the hopes they would force the child to bear false testimony against his mother. There is one other thing you should know… Milien's girl, Charlotte, miscarried in prison. She is slated to die on Friday…"

"Robbie, we have to do something… Does Milien know about Charlotte?" D'Eon hissed. Robbie only shook his head sadly. "The prisoners are guarded too well… I have not told Milien of the news about his fiancée."

"Is there nothing we can do?"

D'Eon closed his eyes in despair. Natalia would be at her brother's bedside in that rundown room with the leaky roof. Infection had forced Milien to his bed for nearly two weeks. The chances of Milien recovering his sight were getting more remote with each day. The Tussads had also been sworn to secrecy on the whereabouts of the patient. The Widow Capet, as their queen was now known, would be called on to stand trial within the month. The royal children were languishing in their imprisonment. D'Eon was more concerned for the dauphin. He trusted Robin would never ill-treat the princess he was now guardian to.

Milien had tried to explain, between the fever and the shivering fits from the infection, that Robespierre's erratic behaviour was the result of possession by the spirit of the dead poet, Jean Paul. If that were true, D'Eon despaired of ever talking sense into Robin. He recalled the alarming ease with which Lia had taken over his being back then, despite his best efforts not to allow it to happen at times. Yet, his sister was gentle with him as far as she could in her fury and pain. From he understood from Milien's babbling, Jean Paul was not a friend of Robin's.

"_Perhaps… w-we should k-kill him…"_ Milien had said during one of his incoherent rambles. D'Eon wondered if that was the only way.

"It is strange, but they say Robespierre has a kindness to the princess. He would not allow the guards to mock her. She is not told of the fate of her mother or brother but knows her father is dead. He allowed her, under heavy guard, to pray for her father at Notre Dame Cathedral, before the revolutionaries renamed it their precious Temple of Reason. He dines with her in her cell on occasion. Odd thing that. He would have a picnic hamper… The rumour has it he fancies the girl…" Robbie shrugged. "They also say that he released the nanny and Lady Labelle because the princess pleaded with him to do so."

"What of the dauphin?"

"The boy is sick. He coughs constantly and the guard who empties the slop bucket in his cell says he is kept chained like a dog. The lad needs a doctor, but I doubt he would be allowed one…" Robbie glanced into the dark night and the drizzle. Someone was coming. _A friend or foe?_

"A blessing on your friendly face, Robert Beaumont," a voice called out. It was a familiar one to both D'Eon and Robbie. A lantern-shade was lifted and the pair saw a boatman approaching in a boat. It was the English knight, Sir William. In the stern of the rowboat was the huddled form of his sister, Doris. The boat beached just feet from the pair. The knight allowed the lantern shade down and dimmed the light.

"Who is Robert Beaumont?" D'Eon asked as Robbie hurried to help Doris out of the boat. Her hair was now snowy white and she was stooped over with her age.

"Robbie, of course," Doris replied. "He needed a proper family name for his children. Yours will do just fine. Now where is this poor patient you speak of, Robbie? Let us see to him."

**Author's Notes:**

Another rescue attempt, this time with the help of Sir William and his poet sister?

Milien and Natalia are reunited in dire circumstances.


	87. More Planning

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 87 – More Planning **

"How is he?" D'Eon asked in a whisper when Doris and Sir William emerged from the room. The room was small to start with. D'Eon had been requested to stay outside the door with Robbie and Natalia so as to not get in the way of the English poets as they went about their work. Doris shook her head and waved for them to enter. Milien was seated on a chair. The awful wounds on his face had healed without a scar. His violet blue eyes were almost luminous in the dim-lit room.

"Lia? Is that you?" Milien tilted his head slightly in the direction of the door. He tried to rise and walk over to her but stumbled over an extinguished lamp. Natalia let loose a choked cry and hurried to her twin. D'Eon realised that his nephew was still blind. Natalia wept and cradled her twin's head against her breast.

"We purged the infection from his blood and knit his wounds together but his sight…" Doris shrugged. "Perhaps if we were in London, with the other poets…"

"Teach me how to heal him," Natalia pleaded. Sir William shook his head. "Your emotions, child. He is too close to your heart. The healing needs not only passion but restrain. Too much emotion will make things worse," he explained gently. "Also, it seems young Maximilien does not wish to regain his eyes' use yet."

"He's right," Milien admitted shamefacedly. "I do not wish to see the bloodshed Master Robespierre will unleash."

"The Assembly will probably sentence the former queen to Madame Guillotine first," Robbie predicted. "The dauphin would probably die of ill-treatment in prison and goodness knows what will happen to his sister. They say Robespierre enjoys her company…" he added.

"By King George, we have to do something for the French royal family, Doris," Sir William exclaimed. "Let us go immediately to free the poor children and their mother."

"Your manners, Sir Willie, will doom your mission to failure. You are English through and through. Miss Doris, beg your pardon, ma'am, is a stranger to these parts. Let me infiltrate the prison as Jean Baptiste of Paris," Robbie placed his cap with the cockade in it on his head. Robbie could act the French guardsman to near-perfection. Sometimes even D'Eon was hard-pressed to recall that Robbie was raised in London.

"We should catch the next ship out to England," Doris said quietly. "We have lingered long enough here. Leave Sir D'Eon and Robbie to work things out. The Dowager Queen may want her niece and family in London, but not at risk to their safety, or ours."

William nodded. He deferred to his sister on this as Doris was ill-used to being so far from her home and for so long a time. The ports would be carefully watched and their countrymen were being placed under increasing scrutiny by the customs agents of the revolution. It was getting harder for the English to ship their French cousins across the Channel.

"What of the queen, the princess and the dauphin?" D'Eon asked. "What future will await them?" He was wary of the political intrigues lurking in the gilded courts of Europe.

"In London, they wold only exist as guests under Queen Mary's roof, royalty in exile, nothing more. The entire world is open, Sir D'Eon, should they choose to make a new life elsewhere," Doris replied. "May we meet in better times, sir."

* * *

The food shortages were worsening as the year marched on. People were losing faith in the revolution. Milien quietly mourned the death of his beloved Charlotte, helpless to do anything. D'Eon and Natalia sat with him then. D'Eon read from Bible in an impromptu memorial. It was forbidden to mourn those lost to the guillotine now. Robbie had covered their quiet mourning by throwing a raucous drinking party in the rooms below with a couple of Jean Baptiste's mates and other unsavoury characters from the neighbourhood.

The reign of terror, they called it. Citizens arrested, imprisoned and sent to the dreaded guillotine on the flimsiest charges. Even the chatty market-women were guarded in their words now, they who had always spoken their minds. Foreigners were singled out for special attention by the city patrols and D'Eon was thankful the Wordsworth siblings had fled for Calais. Unable to stand being on foreign soil, Doris had returned to Dover but her brother was still in France, risking possible arrest. Even Madame Roland's ties to the revolution and her status as a poet failed to save her life and those of her protégé Camille and his wife.

Marie Antoinette was under constant guard, even as she was shuttled to and from the Assembly's courthouse. Her daughter and son were secured in their respective prisons. Annemarie had landed a job as a laundress to make ends meet now that death masks were no longer in demand with most of the condemned being of ever lower rank. Her rounds included the prison where the princess was held. Francois' skill as a physician was called on, albeit reluctantly, for the dauphin. D'Eon enlisted as a grave-digger for the public cemetery and Natalia aided Annemarie with the laundering. Things were the hardest for Milien with his disability. He could only hide in Robbie's lodgings as he tried to get used to his now darkened world.

"They want him well enough to testify against his mama in court… Boy's in bad shape," a sombre Francois shook his head. "The foul air in his dungeon wreaks havoc on his weak lungs. Some scoundrel broke his leg and it wasn't set properly. He'll probably have a limp the rest of his life. Poor thing's half-starved… I don't know what Monsieur Robespierre is up to."

"His sister's treated much better. Clean clothes, even has books to keep her occupied. I should know. I collect her sheets…" Annemarie added. The Tussads' sympathies had long shifted from the revolution to the royalist camps. "I suppose the dauphin's jailers are taking it out on him because the Austrians and Spanish recognize him as King Louis XVII after his papa was executed." They ended their dinner in silence. It was clear to all that they were running out of time for a rescue. The queen's trial was nearing its inevitable conclusion.

* * *

"Sir D'Eon! You got to help!" Lady Labelle shrilled. D'Eon glanced furtively about them before pulling the former lady-in-waiting into the nearest alley. It was dangerous to discuss such matters in the open with the sharp-eyed and keen-eared spies of the Assembly about the city. It was worse than King Louis XV's secret police back then. He had been venturing into the streets dressed to queue for bread for the household. The womenfolk always discussed goings-on in their hushed voices as they waited. Any news of what was happening could be of use to them. The streets ran red with blood from the guillotine in places.

"Labelle, you should be away from here," D'Eon chided.

"I cannot abandon her or the children! Where are you still here, D'Eon?"

"She would die! And the children, oh!"

"Shush, madam. Such talk is dangerous," D'Eon clapped a hand over her mouth. He hesitated for a moment before reaching a decision.

"We have a plan…" he admitted. _The devil was in the details,_ Francois had admitted. They were still short of the essential ingredient to the plan Robbie and his English masters had conjured up.

* * *

"Where's my mama?" the princess asked him solemnly. "And what of my brother?" Robespierre looked up from his book. He had taken it on himself to impart the values of the revolution, equality, fraternity and democracy to the girl. She was an intelligent student. However, as he went through the lessons with her, he could not help but realise how wrong their vision had become. He had expected bloodshed, yes. But now the bloodshed seemed never ending and meaningless. He was heartily sick of it. Yet that dark voice in his mind refused to let him stop it.

"Think of her as dead, Marie…" Robin put his hand over her small one in a paternal gesture. He always had to fight the urge to call her 'Your Majesty'. The princess resembled Queen Marie with every passing day. Those brown eyes held wisdom far beyond their years. Marie Therese had been forced to grow up sooner than most children.

"If she were truly dead, you'd allow me to mourn her, like you did with my papa. My brother, they will call him a king now papa is gone. But he is still a child…" she pulled her hand away from his.

Robin felt a twist of guilt in his gut. He recalled being so furious when news reached him of the poor dauphin being crowned in absentia by his Spanish and Austrian kin as king of France. He had given leave to the jailers to use force on the boy to force him to testify against his mother. _What would a boy that age know about his mother's romantic liaisons, if any? _Knowing the sadistic characters of those he put in charge, it was a miracle the boy had not perished yet. No doubt it was due to Jean Paul's influence he had ignored the boy's plight. He must have the jailers replaced with more kindly ones. Perhaps allow the boy to be reunited with his sister. Surely the child would be as eager as his sister to accept the new values.

"The reins of the nation, my tutor Baronne de Beaumont told me, were entrusted to my papa by God by virtue of his birth. An accident of birth, and my brother is now king. If we'd been born to a cobbler, we would not have to worry about the running of France. Because of this, every king needs a court of loyal and talented men and women to aid him. Sadly many of them are also born to their posts. In a democracy, the citizens elect their leaders to help their ruler," the girl mused. "Perhaps things would be better…"

Robin blinked. He had always felt a gnawing guilt about abandoning the French court and Queen Marie's last words to him. He had failed Auguste. But as a page, what chance did he have in the greater scheme of the court? More likely, he would be exiled or cast aside like D'Eon was. The doubts came again. He was a pretender. The real Maximilien Robespierre was long dead, both the father and the son, so he believed.

"Monsieur Robespierre?"

"Please, call me Robin…" Robin blurted out. He wanted to be Robin again, the idealistic page, before all the canker and injustice ate away at him.

The girl smiled. "Robin. That is a good name…" Her words echoed her grandmother's so long ago.

* * *

"You told our plans to Lady Labelle? The blabbermouth cannot keep a secret!" Robbie soundly cursed him. He would have hit him if Milien had not restrained him. "That woman is as discreet as a cock in a barnyard. She'd crow out our plans to half the city. Lord knows the Assembly's watching her. She keeps pestering them over the queen."

"Speak to her, Uncle. Tell her to leave the city," Milien advised. "If she remains, it will cost her life," his sister added ominously.

"She will not listen." D'Eon cast a furtive glance at the shuttered window. The citizens of Paris were getting restless. "If only Robin would listen to reason." He had to meet up with Francois at the appointed time.

"Let me help you with the hair before you go to Francois'." Robbie took out a wooden box from under his bed.

* * *

"Please! Don't hurt me!" the boy's panicked cries hit Robin like a whiplash before he spotted the child. He had promised Marie Therese. He had promised and he would keep his word. The surroundings were indeed hellish. The straw on the flagstones was mouldy and the place reeked of excrement and other unsavoury odours. The slop bucket had been knocked onto its side, emptied of its contents. The child was cowering in the shadows, shaking like a leaf, pressed up against his miserable corner of his prison. His leg was chained to the wall.

"Get out from there, you pup!" one of the guards bellowed and yanked on the chain, dragging the sobbing child into the open. "Here's our little king…" he mocked.

In the dim light, Robin could see the horrific condition of the child. He was skin and bones garbed in only a soiled shirt. One eye had been swollen shut. The boy tried to crawl away from tormentors. Robin noticed that one of those stick-like legs was twisted at an awkward angle. It would be near-impossible for the boy to stand, let alone walk without aid.

"Stop!" Robin shouted as one of the guards dealt the prisoner a vicious kick to the ribs. "How is he to testify before the Assembly in this state? Fetch fresh clothes, clean water and a doctor!" he ordered.

Terrified by Robespierre's fury, the guards hastened away to do his bidding, for like all bullies they are secretly cowards at heart. Robin approached the child cautiously. One could mistake him for a beggar-child, yet even the lowliest beggar-child had more spark than this. The child whimpered and scrambled away at his approach like a frightened animal. _What had they done to the boy?_

Francois was soon at his side, having been summoned by the guards. The doctor hurried to the patient, who clung onto him with bony arms like a drowning man. Francois calmed Charles Louis the best he could. "What happened to the new clothes I left him with? Has he been fed regularly? And the water…" the doctor waved in disgust at the scum-covered water barrel. "Sirs! If you wish for the boy to live long enough to stand before the assembly, you must help me!"

"You speak too much. Do your work, quack!" one of the guards smashed his club into Francois' shoulder. The doctor let out a moan but refused to be cowed. It was the doctor's assistant, a tall stranger who had hung back behind the guards who now spoke.

"Let the good doctor do his work," the voice was familiar to Robin and he soon saw why. The doctor's new assistant was D'Eon. The knight was much older now. He had dyed his hair brown even though he kept it long and in a pigtail which was much like those of sailing men. He had managed to grow a bit of a beard, or it might be a fake one. The quiet rage in those eyes was what gave him away. Robin was under no illusions about D'Eon. If forced to, D'Eon was as deadly a swordfighter as Lia, and he had what appeared to be a sword under his overcoat. Robin was not ready to test his skills.

"Leave them to their work!" Robin ordered and was glad to see the guards obey him. Jean Paul's spirit had remained at bay, as long as Robin could keep Marie in his mind. He could bear the dull pain in his head and his bad leg. Yet, he was nearing his limit. He had to leave before he lost control again. Dourly, he slipped out of the dungeon and headed for Marie Therese's cell. The girl's presence always kept Jean Paul away.

"Sir D-D'Eon… where's papa? He can't be dead…" Charles Louis whispered. "It hurts…" he whimpered as the doctor lifted up his tattered shirt to wash him the best they could. The boy coughed weakly and D'Eon was alarmed to see blood in his spit. "The foul air's ruining his lungs," Francois explained. "Hand me those bandages and the ointment…" The poor child was bruised and cut all over his tiny body. Many of the wounds were showing signs of infection.

They had to get him out before it was too late.

**Author's Notes: **

Things are grim for our heroes. Yet there is another escape attempt in the planning.


	88. To Save a Dauphin

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 88 – To Save a Dauphin**

It was agonizing for them waiting for an opening to rescue the dauphin and dreading Robespierre's men swooping down on them. The queen had been found guilty for her alleged crimes and sentenced. Lady Labelle cornered D'Eon in the streets in hysterics at the news and would have earned them both the attentions of the guards if Robbie had not chanced upon them and saw fit to knock her out. The queen would be dead within the week.

"No chance of us using that ploy with her," Milien acknowledged. They were taking a risk with Milien walking about in daylight but the poor man was starting to chafe at his self-enforced imprisonment in Robbie's room.

"Her face is too well-known. You have to admit, Marie Antoinette is a unique beauty in a class of her own and none of these ladies fit the bill…" Natalia added with a wave over the corpses lying on the cart waiting for D'Eon to finish digging their graves. Robbie put down his shovel.

"You know, there is a woman in Rue de Madeline who bears a fleeting likeness to the woman. The right height and build too. Only problem is that she is alive, but…" he mimed slitting a throat with a wicked grin. The twins caught on, even the blind Milien. The pair smiled unsettlingly. Two pairs of eyes, excluding Milien's, bandaged ones, fixed on D'Eon and the trio waited for his reply.

"No." With one word, D'Eon ended the discussion. There was no further talk of rescuing the queen.

* * *

"My mother is to die. Has she any words for me?" Marie Therese's voice was solemn. She placed her book, a Voltaire he noted, on the table. She waited for him to reply. Robin shook his head. On receiving the sentence of death, the former queen had fallen into a near catatonic state. She had not spoken since. In addition, her health took a drastic turn with constant bleeding which the physician summoned to tend to her put down to malignant growths in the womb. Surely he should not tell the girl how bad her mother's condition was.

"She always favoured my brother…" the girl admitted with rancour. "Has she any words for him? If yes, please pass them on to him."

"I will," Robin said.

"Merci," the girl smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek, quite forgetting to control herself. Robin blushed crimson.

"Master Robespierre! We have news!" someone was pounding on the door. "Milien! That student of yours has been sighted with a woman in a street in Calais!" Robespierre, or rather, Jean Paul, had sent men to look for the missing Milien constantly in hopes of retrieving the Psalms. At this news, Robin could feel the influence of the poet, so far dormant in Marie's presence, surge up. He rose to his feet. He had to leave while he was in control of himself.

"Robin? What's wrong? You look pale…" the girl furrowed her brow with worry and bent towards him. She placed a hand gently on his brow. Robin lashed out.

"Don't touch me!" he yelled and shoved her aside. He ran out without a backwards glance.

_The Psalms. He had to get the Psalms._

* * *

"Ironic, isn't it? The only chance we'll get is during his mother's execution," Annemarie murmured as she lifted the cloth off the body on the dinner table. All the children under the Tussads' care had long moved on to their family and friends'. It was not unusual for Annemarie to have a head or body in the kitchen for her to work on. D'Eon shuddered when he saw the pathetic form lying on the table. The resemblance to the dauphin was striking.

"He was a beggar-boy, found frozen in a ditch. Destined for a pauper's grave, until Annemarie stopped the undertaker with a bit of bread," Francois explained on noticing the knight's unease. The undertaker, with seven hungry children at home, was not going to question why the doctor's wife wanted with a body when there was additional bread to be had for his little ones. The doctor turned the body over and unfolded the limbs with great difficulty as rigor had set in.

"Won't do. This boy is too tall by a few inches," the doctor remarked.

"No, there is no time to find another body. We have to act," Lady Labelle said. She had insisted on joining their conspiracy and D'Eon reluctantly agreed, against the objections of the others. Though greatly reduced in status and wealth, she still glowed with energy which now bordered on manic. _Dangerous,_ Natalia and Milien had warned. Somehow the twins had sensed death hovering over the woman. Both had tried to dissuade her from participating in the rescue to no avail.

"What's a bit of my blood to save His Highness?" she replied with a defiant toss of her head.

William would be waiting in Calais to receive the poor child once they rescue him and get him out of the city. Robbie and Natalia would be waiting with an ox cart to take Charles Louis to Calais while D'Eon, Annemarie and Lady Labelle entered the prison with their laundry baskets. D'Eon would be armed with a pistol, provided by Robbie, and a short sword under his apron. He would also carry the basket containing the body. Lady Labelle and Annemarie would distract the guards.

* * *

Meanwhile in Calais, Robespierre cursed his ill luck. It was a false lead. The man mistaken for Milien was only a blond sailor from Holland taking a walk with his tart. He was also a full six inches too short. He made a note to have the informant imprisoned for wasting his time. It was dark when he prepared to return to Paris. He did not want to miss an execution of such importance as that of their fallen queen. As he waited for the horses to be fetched, he saw a familiar face.

It was the traitor to the Revolutionary Brethren, Sir William Wordsworth. The English poet recognised Robespierre in that same instant. He turned and started walking up the docks at a good clip, heading for the safety of the American mission. France was on friendly terms with the newly independent nation and it would be most unseemly to arrest a guest of the embassy. Robespierre, or rather Jean Paul, knew he had to be stopped.

Robespierre felt the burning power of the poems surge through his body and the words fall involuntarily from his lips. Immediately, the stray cats which stalked the harbour front came out of the shadows, possessed and ready to attack. The Englishman increased his pace.

The cats attacked then, claws and fangs slashing. There were at fifty of the felines. Seeing this, Sir William made a foolhardy choice. He leapt off the docks at a flying run, heavy coat and all. A splash broke the silent night. _The fool!_ Robespierre sneered. The current was swift here and the weight of his heavy garments would drag the Englishman to a watery grave. With a satisfied smile, Robespierre walked away. He had an inkling why the poet was in Calais and he wanted to make sure the royal prisoners were safely under guard.

He did not see a dishevelled but very alive Sir William clinging to the pier posts at the waterline. The man had used his poems to turn the current in his favour. Wearily, William waited for hours to make sure his opponent had left before he started to haul his freezing body onto the dockside by the grey light of dawn. He must warn Robbie and D'Eon.

With his teeth still chattering with cold, he plucked out a piece of soaked parchment from his pocket and set it out on the cobblestones. He prayed they were still in the Tussad house. His fingers still numb and shaking, he lifted his forefinger to his lips and bit its tip to draw blood…

* * *

D'Eon adjusted his mob-cap uneasily. Things were going smoothly so far. There were a dozen of them and the addition of two new laundresses had gone unremarked on. D'Eon had been forced to don female clothing again as part of his disguise. Lady Labelle was restraining herself so far, even with the lewd jokes the guards who admitted them made. One of the drink-addled men even tried to grope the lady's rump. They had taken care to rub walnut-juice in their hair and on their faces to darken the colour, but there was still a risk of discovery. Once within the warren of passageways, Annemarie and the other real laundresses hastened off to their duties collecting the laundry. D'Eon and the lady hurried in the direction of the dauphin's cell.

Robbie had taught Lady Labelle how to pick a lock and she did that task while D'Eon kept guard. After a few fumbling tries, the lock popped open.

"Poor child!" Lady Labelle gasped when she saw Charles Louis lying there on the bare stone floor.

"Stand back… and keep watch," D'Eon instructed before turning his attention to the manacles binding the child. Lady Labelle stood back by the door. The knight inserted the point of his sword into a chain-link and twisted it. He swore under his breath. The links had been welded shut. The only way was the chain nearest to the manacle itself.

The dauphin had awoken and now stared at the newcomers with a mix of apprehension and fear. D'Eon shushed him. "Don't move or make a sound." He had to break the manacle-chain with his sword-point, lacking a dagger or any suitable tools…

"D'Eon, hurry! They're coming," Lady Labelle gasped aloud. The distraction caused his hand to slip. The sword point hit metal with a resounding clang before sliding off the side and biting into the child's ankle. D'Eon knew there was no time to waste. He tried again, this time snapping the point of his sword in his haste but breaking the chain. He tore off a piece of his dress and bound up the child's ankle. They could hear the guards' voices as they passed the cell. Thankfully, they did not think to check on their royal prisoner. To his credit, Charles Louis remained silent despite the pain of his wound.

"Sorry, Your Majesty," D'Eon breathed an apology into the boy's hair as he lifted that horribly light frame in his arms. He felt as if he were burning with a fever. Labelle tipped the laundry basket over, emptying the dead beggar onto the dungeon floor. They would not put the manacles on it. D'Eon lowered the child inside the wicker basket and took it up. They had to meet up with the other laundresses and leave the prison.

Milien prayed silently in his room as he clutched the Psalms to his chest. His old scar was burning and he did not like it. He wished he could be with his sister but he feared discovery by his master. By the bridge outside the Revolution Square with its guillotine, Robbie and Natalia waited. All their nerves were stretched to the breaking point. A coach would get too much attention and there was no way the dauphin could ride on horseback. A cartload of old rags might go unnoticed. Natalia fidgeted restlessly. They had parted company several hours before dawn so that Labelle and D'Eon could meet Annemarie for some suitable dresses for their disguise.

Natalia felt her old throat scar burning under her high lace collar. Unease flooded her being. _Surely her uncle would have managed to get the dauphin by now? _Noticing her unease, Robbie touched her lightly on the shoulder. Dawn was breaking cold and grey. Soon the first cartloads of prisoners would be trundling past on their way to the guillotine. The market-women had appeared with their knitting round the dreaded machine.

"Look at them, Robbie. The revolution sold them out, like they sold Madame Roland out. Promised them a place in the Assembly, then left them out here to count heads…" she whispered. Robbie nodded. They had to wait longer even with the increased risk of recognition by the market-women. Jean Baptiste had made many of their acquaintances during the course of his work. It would be awkward if they started questioning Jean Baptiste on his companion and rag-cart.

* * *

Francois was exhausted by the time he staggered through the doorway of his home. He had been called to attend a very difficult birth. The mother was too young, a mere child herself. The baby was simply too large to be delivered the usual way. The girl's parents, simple-minded folk, had delayed sending for a doctor until it was almost too late for both. Her baby was lost before he even got there. It might still be too late for the mother. She had lost an awful lot of blood during the operation.

The doctor tossed his medical bag with its bloodied scalpels onto the table. His wife had gone off with the French royalist knight and lady. Perhaps his poor patient in the dungeons would be delivered from…

"Oh Lord above!" Francois exclaimed aloud when he saw the blood red letters hovering over the mantelpiece. He threw his discarded coat back on and hastened out in the direction of Jean Baptiste's lodgings.

HE KNOWS. BE VIGILANT. W.

**Author's Notes:**

Marie Antoinette was guillotined. I have no intention of changing that part of history, but her son's death in prison was suspect for much of history, until DNA testing proved he died in prison as the official record stated. The royalists held hope that the dauphin was alive and had escaped. There were a number of pretenders to the throne appearing soon afterwards, claiming to be the dauphin. There were stories that the boy's nanny disguised as a laundress and smuggled him out of prison, substituting another dead boy for him.


	89. An Adieu

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

More poems, gargoyles and desperate escapes.

**Chapter 89 – An Adieu **

"Jean Baptiste! Open up!" Francois panted as he pounded on the door of Robbie's room. "Annemarie!" he bleated his wife's name. Perhaps they had not gone to the prison yet. In his dismay, it was the blind Milien who opened the door. Hastily, he told the blond youth of the message he had seen in his house.

Milien knew they were running out of time. He had begged Francois to lead him, as fast as he could, to the bridge where his sister and Robbie waited. He guessed it was too late for D'Eon and Lady Labelle. He paid little heed to the rough stones which cut into his elbows, hands and knees every time he stumbled. There had been no time to pull on a decent coat. No, they must reach Lia. He became aware of the crowds lining the streets. Francois' pace slowed, hindered by the masses. Cautiously Milien cast out his thoughts in a silent scream to his sister.

_Lia! They know! Get out of there! _Natalia sat up in shock. There was no doubt it was Max.

"Robbie! Any sign of them?" she whispered. Robbie shook his head. The crowd was growing. The queen would be escorted this way in an ox-cart to jeers from the bloodthirsty mob soon. They might not be able to manoeuvre their way past the sheer crush of people eager to watch their former queen die. "We must move," Natalia decided. Reluctantly, Robbie agreed. Cracking the reins, he drove off the bridge and into an alleyway. Natalia slipped off the cart and mingled with the mob. Uncle D'Eon would need someone to direct them to the cart.

_How much do they know, Max?_

_I'm not sure… but Master Robespierre definitely knows Sir William is up to something…_

_Then we cannot send the boy to Calais. The port will be watched… Most French ships crossing the Channel leave from there._

* * *

_Something was wrong,_ D'Eon sensed, when he re-joined the other laundresses. The guards were checking the contents of the baskets in the yard. They had never bothered the laundresses before. Someone must have warned them of the attempt. The annoyed women were grumbling as rough hands rifled through their loads. Hastily, Annemarie pulled both D'Eon and Labelle aside to stuff some of the laundry in her basket into their baskets. D'Eon carefully arranged the dirty shirts on top of the boy in his. He prayed that the guards would not force them to empty the baskets. Dragging his feet, he joined the queue.

The dauphin must have passed out from his fever or the pain of his wound. The boy remained quiet and still as D'Eon lifted the lid of his basket for inspection. The guard took one look, not a very close one, at the soiled garments within.

"Next!" the guard waved him on. He had apparently passed the cursory inspection, and not a moment too soon. D'Eon lowered his eyes and hunched his shoulders when he saw Robin walking towards them from across the prison yard. They had expected him to be at the guillotine, overseeing the execution of the queen. D'Eon hoped his disguise was sufficient to fool the former page. Lady Labelle was soon by his side, having passed the inspection too.

There was some problem with Annemarie's basket. Despite the woman's outraged protest, the contents of her basket were unceremoniously dumped into the mud. Grumbling, the poor woman had no choice but to pick up the muddied clothes under the guards' watchful eyes. D'Eon hesitated. No, they could not stop for Annemarie. They must continue. Grimly, he lugged his burden towards the gate.

"Nothing funny in her basket, sir…" the guard reported to Robin. Annemarie glared daggers at him as she went about her task.

"We could like you to make a death mask for Marie Antoinette," Robin offered awkwardly. He had not meant for the guards to manhandle the laundresses. "You would be paid for your work…"

"You are too kind, Master Robespierre," Annemarie replied through gritted teeth. Robespierre bent down to help her pick up a shirt. He saw them then - drops of crimson, fresh and still wet to the touch. The blood led towards the gate. There were a few women still milling about, waiting for their friends. Robespierre's attention was seized immediately by the tall woman hurrying in the direction of the gate with what was no doubt a heavy load in her basket. Her friend at the gate was waving her on. He recognized the woman as Lady Labelle.

"Guards! Stop them!"

"Run!" Lady Labelle screamed. D'Eon held onto his laundry basket and ran, shoving two of the other laundresses aside in his haste. Pandemonium ensued with guards seizing the wrong women and the outraged women fighting back with their baskets. The warden shouted at his men to restore order. A knot of young men destined for the guillotine were being forced by some guards into an ox-cart in a corner of the yard. Now the motley group made use of the disturbance to fight back against their tormentors. The chaos was enough to cover their escape for moment. Somehow, D'Eon found himself running beside Lady Labelle. There was no sign of Annemarie.

D'Eon tripped and the basket flew from his arms, spilling both laundry and Charles Louis onto the cobbled street. D'Eon noticed that the boy's ankle was still bleeding and that it had left a tell-tale trail of blood drops behind them. "Hurry!" Labelle shrilled. Robin and a few of the guards had managed to make their way out of the prison gate. D'Eon scooped up the limp boy in his arms.

Robin fought hard against Jean Paul's spirit, but he knew it was a losing battle. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to pull out his pistol. He tried to picture Queen Marie's face or her granddaughter… or even Durand's. Please, let him hold on long enough for D'Eon and the others to be out of range.

_Kill them! Kill them now!_ Jean Paul's foul voice hissed in his mind. The power of the poems the dead poet evoked threatened to overwhelm him. He had his mentor's watch in his coat pocket. If he could touch Durand's watch…

The pistol was in his hand before he realised what he had done.

"No!" Lady Labelle screamed. Robespierre's pistol spat fire. D'Eon felt someone barrel into him, almost jarring the boy from his grasp. The smell of gunpowder and blood made him turn. Labelle was clutching her midriff from which blood was oozing. She had been hit shielding him and the dauphin.

"R-run!" she urged even though she must be in considerable pain. The dauphin had roused himself sufficiently to wrap his stick-thin arms around D'Eon's neck.

"Fire! Fire! Don't let them escape!" Robespierre was waving his spent weapon about and shouting at his guards between curses. He reminded D'Eon of a madman. He could not leave Lady Labelle behind to face his wrath. The knight tugged at Labelle's arm. To his dismay he was unable to coax her back onto her feet. The guards lifted their muskets, egged on by Robespierre. Buckshot sprayed into the already excited crowd. Panicked, the citizenry fled in all directions amid screams and shouts.

The panicked crowd forced D'Eon apart from Labelle. Helplessly, D'Eon clutched the boy to him tightly as his companion was trampled. There was only a weak moan before she disappeared under the fleeing people. D'Eon felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He had been hit. Charles Louis' head flopped forward as if he had fallen unconscious. There was blood on the cobblestones. _Was it Labelle's? Or his own? Or…_

"Uncle D'Eon!" Natalia's scream brought him to his senses. He had to get the dauphin to safety. It might already be too late for Lady Labelle. He held onto the boy and ran, forcing his way through the thinning crowd. He had lost his mob cap in the melee and his shoulder ached as if it were stuck with a red-hot poker. There was no sign of the rag cart which was to smuggle the boy to safety. Natalia's hand was on his elbow. "This way," his niece urged him across a bridge.

They were running when Natalia suddenly stumbled and let loose a fearsome scream. D'Eon saw the change too. The cobblestones beneath their feet were pulsing with the poems and their feet were sinking into the stones as if they were mud. It was a poet's work. The other citizens on the bridge shuddered violently before turning and shambling towards them. They had been transformed into gargoyles. Recovering herself, Natalia gripped the side of the bridge and chanted her own poems, the stones beneath them solidified so that they were no longer trapped. The gargoyles had cut off their escape by now, massing on both ends of the bridge.

D'Eon turned and gasped when he recognized the gargoyle approaching him. It was Lady Labelle and she was very clearly dead with the awkward way her head lolled. She hissed and clawed the air before her as the others did. Natalia had managed to establish a small area of protection against them on the bridge,_ but how long could she hold on?_ D'Eon had dropped his firearm in the stampede and they were unarmed.

Robespierre watched on with glee at the trio's plight. They would have had the former queen guillotined by now, and the dauphin was doomed. All that remained of the French royal line would be that little girl trapped in her cell. The Duke of Orlean's son had fled the country with his mother but that could be dealt with at his leisure. Being a distant cousin and of lesser noble stock, it was unlikely he would pose a threat to the new order. Jean Paul could feel the wretched Robin desperately trying to regain control, reaching for something deep within. He did not care. Robin was too weak…

"_I cast my eyes to the hills from hence come my aid…" _It was Milien's voice, ringing clear and true over the river. Natalia added her poems to his so that their voices resonated as one.

Robin could see him then. Milien stood on the far bank of the river with his book of Psalms clutched to his chest. Francois the doctor stood beside him, steadying him and keeping him from falling over the side into the river.

"Mil! You're alive!" Robin shouted. The blond man hesitated at the sound of his mentor's voice. Then Jean Paul seized hold again. The pistol was raised and cocked.

"Watch out!" Francois spotted the glinting of sunlight off the pistol and shoved the younger man clear as the firearm spat fire.

"Max!" Natalia screamed when she saw her brother and Francois tumble off the embankment and into the muddy waters. The gargoyles closed in, tearing at their flesh and clothes. _There was only one means of escape now,_ D'Eon realised. He shoved a stricken Natalia over the side of the bridge before plunging into the swollen river himself with his precious burden.

The current was fierce and swollen with all manner of foul debris. A bloated ox carcass slammed into D'Eon, forcing him below and almost jarring the dauphin from his grasp. They could not get to the surface… A hand firmly grabbed hold of his hair and pulled him upwards to blessed air. Strong arms grabbed him about the chest and hauled him in.

"Watch it, Sir D'Eon…" It was Robbie. They were in a sturdy boat. A hooded Annemarie was with him, having escaped the scrutiny of the prison guards. She poled the craft along the best she could under the bridge. D'Eon coughed, spat and looked around him. In their blind rage, the gargoyles had followed them into the river where the current was making a quick end of them. Milien was lying in the bottom of the boat as Francois pummelled his chest with his fists. The damned book was still in his nephew's grip and it was uncannily dry. Natalia swam over to them like an otter and hauled herself in. She had always been a strong swimmer.

Milien coughed and vomited filthy river water, to their great relief. It was only then that D'Eon dared to look at the boy clutched to his chest. The dauphin had suffered a head-wound in addition to his ankle-wound. Part of his ear was gone, possibly taken by buckshot. Robbie took up the pole from Annemarie and poled them into a tunnel. Francois would need to see to their injuries.

* * *

A few hours later, they were gathered in Robbie's secret hideaway in the catacombs. Annemarie had gone home to receive the queen's head and work on her death mask. She promised to return with food and a few other supplies for them once night fell. She was taking a great risk as Robespierre must have seen Francois aiding Milien. "I'll take my chances," she said when warned by her husband.

Francois treated the dauphin's wounds the best he could in their circumstances. The bullet lodged in D'Eon's shoulder was duly extracted and the wound cauterized. Thanks to Francois' quick action, Milien only suffered a gash across his upper arm from the bullet fired at him by Robespierre. They feared the dauphin's weakened condition would not allow him to last through the night. Natalia contacted Sir William using the poems and was dismayed to learn that the Englishman had very reluctantly been forced to leave France by authorities in Calais. No further ships would be allowed to leave for England for a while. England might declare war on the revolutionary France.

* * *

At morning, the dauphin stirred and a thin gruel was fed to him by the physician. D'Eon knew something was wrong when he walked in on the pair and the boy gazed on him with pure bewilderment. "Who is he?" Charles Louis asked.

"He does not remember his own name," Francois whispered as he cleared the breakfast tray. "He took a nasty bump on the head and it's a miracle he isn't hurt worse." The adults left the child to sleep while they adjourned to the corridor outside.

"Still, we must move him out of the city," Robbie added grimly as he walked in. "You, Monsieur, will have to leave with him as I have my duties here."

Francois nodded grimly. "I have family in Switzerland. But first I must bid farewell to Annemarie." They knew it was risky.

"Francois, I will do with you. He is the heir to the throne… it is my duty…" D'Eon ventured. Francois shook his head.

"Sir D'Eon, he is a child with a bad leg and no memory of his past. Allow him to spend the rest of his life in peace. There is no telling when or if he will ever recover his memory. It may be a week or a lifetime. I will guard him as a father would, that you have my word," Francois declared solemnly.

"He is right, Sir D'Eon. There is still his sister-" Robbie nodded in agreement. "Francois, take a cart and leave for the countryside dressed as a farmer. Keep to the small roads, even when crossing the border. Do not tell us, even Annemarie, where you are headed. Do not tell us where you fetch up." D'Eon saw the wisdom of Robbie's words. If they did not know their whereabouts, they would not be able to betray Francois and his patient even under torture should they be captured.

* * *

"Is my brother really dead?" Marie Therese asked when Robin visited her in her cell. No doubt the gossip had reached her. Charles Louis ought to be dead, likewise Milien, D'Eon and the others. The river was swollen from heavy rains. The Psalms were probably at the bottom of the river now. Jean Paul's desire to possess them had come to nought. The redhead looked wan. He was exhausted. The debacle on the bridge had not gone unnoticed by the Assembly. Several people had been wounded by the muskets of the guards. More trampled to death in the stampede or drowned in the river. Officially, they would report it as an attempted jailbreak. A few of the condemned had actually managed to make their break for freedom. Charles Louis' apparent death was noted as a mere footnote in the records and the miserable corpse the rescuers left behind passed for his. Robespierre had already received a summons to appear before the Council.

Robin had to fight hard to control the rage Jean Paul no doubt felt. "Yes he is, Marie," he lied.

"Liar," the young princess replied. Robin made to leave. His pocket watch fell out of his coat pocket. "You've dropped your watch…" the young girl was on it in a flash. She picked it up. "It means a lot to you, doesn't it… NQM. Are those the initials of a lady?" she asked innocently. Robin snatched it back from her with more vehemence than necessary.

Robin knew he had to find some excuse to ship the young princess out of France and soon for her safety.

* * *

When D'Eon returned to the catacombs a few hours before sunset, Francois and Charles Louis had already left with Robbie's help. He found only Milien and Natalia sitting on the cot where the patient had been resting on. Lady Labelle's death was listed down as one of the many brought about by the stampede. There was no mention on the streets of the dauphin's escape. Instead, there were whispers that he had died of an illness.

D'Eon wondered if he would ever see the physician and his patient again.

"I've reached a decision, uncle," Milien announced solemnly. "We have to deal with Jean Paul's foul shade, even if we have to kill Master Robespierre…" Milien's voice broke and Natalia placed her arm round his shoulders in a comforting gesture.

"There has to be another way!" D'Eon protested.

"Let me do it for you, Max," Natalia said quietly.

"No one's killing anyone…" D'Eon cut in. "If need be, let me do it. You are still young, the both of you. It will not matter if I get caught…"

"He's a poet, uncle," Milien added.

**Author's Notes:**

****It is goodbye to the dauphin and Francois.


	90. Meeting with an Old Friend

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 90 - Meeting with an Old Friend**

Although the siblings had promised D'Eon not to take any rash action against Robespierre, the French knight was still wary. There was also the problem of Princess Marie Therese. Annemarie Tussad took her husband's apparent abandonment with as much dignity as humanly possible with the neighbours making digs at her unwomanly work in the morgues forcing him away. To add more fuel to the gossip, Robbie gave up his room to Milien and D'Eon and moved in with the abandoned wife. Natalia continued staying with Annemarie.

"Sir Willie is unable to return to France," Robbie informed them. "There is no way for us to bring her across the channel. Perhaps we can send her to where her brother is, if Francois could contact us… No, it would be risky. Better he stays quiet." _And carry the secret of the dauphin's whereabouts to the grave_, his eyes said quietly as he gave a apologetic nod to Annemarie. The Frenchwoman did not betray any emotion but continued her knitting.

"We need to get close to her, or her jailers… but I hear Robespierre is constantly about her…" Robbie added.

"I hear an envoy has been sent to the Austrians," D'Eon whispered softly. The news had spread like wildfire in the marketplace. The Assembly was outraged by this action initiated by Robespierre without consulting them. There was a chance he meant to use her as a pawn in their discussions with the Austrians over the border. D'Eon wished he were more attuned to the political intrigues like his sister was. He cast a glance at her children. Milien's sightless eyes were looking at him like blue stones. His twin was looking down at the socks she was working on. The book of Psalms lay on the table before them, closed.

There was nothing they could do, for now.

* * *

"Soon, Marie, you will be with your uncle and his family," Robin reassured the princess. He had come in to find her weeping over her dead parents. The grief had finally taken its toll on the brave little girl.

"What of my brother, the dauphin?" she asked tearfully. Robin shrugged. He did not know the boy's whereabouts.

"I do not wish to stay with my uncle. He is always so stern, so maman says…" Marie dabbed at her eyes. "But I'll be brave…"

"I know you will be," Robin felt a pang of regret that he would be parting ways with young Marie. She would be a stranger in Vienna, much like what her mother was when she first came to Versailles. It was the lot of princesses to be sent away from their families at a young age to be wed to a stranger in a foreign land. Often they were condemned to remain an outsider for the rest of their lives. _Had Queen Marie, her grandmother, ever felt the same?_ If she did, her former page could not recall her ever showing it. Regardless of those nights when her husband was away with his mistress or the constant petty quarrels of the nobles… she always had a smile and kind words for her ladies and pages. No doubt her granddaughter would be the same.

Robin clutched the watch in his pocket. He silently prayed that the Austrian royals would treat Princess Marie Therese of France gently. Her fiancé was a somewhat simple-minded boy, according to the court gossips. Perhaps he would be blessed with a good heart as simple people often were. Perhaps he would be the kind and understanding husband to her when she comes of age. There were so many things which could go wrong. _Perhaps…_ _Should he let her stay?_ No, he mustn't falter. The council was displeased with him but he would talk them over, eventually.

Still very much subdued, the princess sat on her bed with her knees tucked up to her chin. Robin sat down beside her and stroked her hair as a father would to comfort her.

* * *

The streets were deserted at this late hour. D'Eon knew he was taking a risk but he had to. He waited in a doorway opposite Marie Therese's tower. The window was still lit. He had watched and waited for the light to be extinguished. A half-hour later, Robespierre emerged from the prison yard. He bid a goodnight to the guards and walked off in the direction of his house. D'Eon moved then, dogging his steps. He caught up with Robespierre at the next corner.

"Robin. We need to talk," D'Eon whispered into the redhead's ear as he pressed the point of his dagger to Robin's back.

"D-D'Eon…" Robin gasped in shock. D'Eon forced Robin into a dark alley and out of sight of any passers-by.

"What do you intend to do with the princess?"

"R-return her to her family," Robin croaked. D'Eon slammed him into the wall and pressed an arm against his throat. "In Austria…" Robin squeaked. The pressure on his windpipe eased and D'Eon let him fall on his rump in the mud. Thank goodness Jean Paul had not interfered, perhaps due to the fact that Robin still had Durand's watch clutched in his hand.

"You will hand her unharmed to her Austrian kin?" There was a note of incredulity in D'Eon's voice. Robin nodded.

"She is the splitting image of Queen Marie… I cannot and will not allow any harm to come to her. That I promise," Robin explained. "D'Eon… please understand, I do not wish for anyone to be hurt… I am not myself…" he laughed bitterly, a dry sound in the quiet night. "You can understand that, do you?"

"Yes, I believe I can…" D'Eon replied. He could recall the brief months in which his sister's soul existed with his in his body.

"D'Eon, I would like you to kill me, after the princess is safe in Austria…" Robin begged and clutched at D'Eon's sleeve with his free hand.

"Don't be foolish!" D'Eon retorted. Robin let his hand fall away and his head hang like a chastised dog. A few uneasy breathes of silence passed before he spoke again.

"D'Eon… How's Milien?"

"Maximilien is safe with his sister. However, he has lost his sight." Robin let loose a stricken sob at D'Eon's revelation.

"Where are they? Are the Psalms with him?" Robin could feel Jean Paul's spirit asserting itself, forcing him to yield his body. D'Eon also sensed the change in Robin and stepped back. It was too late. In an instant, a change came over the redhead. He shuddered. The look of desperation drained from his features and was replaced by a cold, calculative mask.

"Uncle D'Eon. Watch out!" Natalia shouted a warning. Robespierre shouted a poem and a glowing string of poems wrapped about D'Eon, trapping him in deadly web.

Natalia ran into the fray, reciting her own poems and wielding her sword. She sliced through the poems and freed her uncle. She stood before her uncle, sword ready to defend him. Close on his sister's heels. Milien trotted into the alley. His eyes were still blind and unseeing but he did not need them. He was in tune with the poems wielded by his sister. For now, her eyes were his. He raised his pistol, cocked and ready and aimed it at his mentor.

"You don't dare, brat!" Robespierre spat in a voice which was not his. "Will you kill your beloved master?"

Milien faltered. It was a stalemate. Natalia held herself ready to rush to her brother's aid, having cast a protective circle about her and her uncle.

"Robin! I know you are there! Fight it! Don't let him win!" D'Eon urged his former comrade. "Remember Durand, and Queen Marie. You promised her, Princess Marie…"

Robin bit his lip and moaned at D'Eon's words. A trickle of blood appeared on his lip where he had bitten through it and dribbled down his chin. D'Eon recognized the old Robin he recalled from his days in the Secret de Roi.

"D'Eon, take them away. Go! I can't hold on…" Robin gasped.

_Oh, Robin… _D'Eon felt his heart wrench at the sight of Robin's agonized face. "Go," he ordered the twins. To his relief, they obeyed him. The trio hurried down the alleys for the safety of their hideout. Behind them, Robin's maniac laughter echoed eerily.

There was a flash and the report of gunfire. Robespierre was shooting into the shadows where they had fled. D'Eon felt something gash his arm, a sharp pain from a stray bullet. Running behind him, Milien let out a gasp. They could not stop to inspect their injuries. They had to get away. Natalia ploughed into a pile of barrels and straw and clawed the obstacles aside to reveal an entrance to the catacombs. Without hesitation, they plunged into the darkness below.

D'Eon knew he had been hit but it was only a flesh wound caused by the bullet grazing him. They walked a good way into the foul-smelling gloom before they felt safe enough to light a taper. D'Eon saw that his sleeve was stained with blood in the light. He tore a strip from his shirt and bound up his arm.

"Max…" It was at the sound of his niece's voice, fraught with concern that he recalled the gasp he had heard from Milien earlier. He turned and was horrified by what he saw. In the flickering light of their taper, Maximilien's face was ashen, almost cadaverous. He clutched at his wounded shoulder. Natalia tore a strip from her shirt to staunch the bleeding but the blood kept oozing.

"T-the bullet… s-still inside…" Milien shook his head.

They would have to operate and extract the bullet lest it poisoned his blood and killed him. They managed to get Milien back to the Tussad house. It was fortunate that Francois had left most of his surgical tools and medicines behind and Annemarie was knowledgeable enough to assist them. For the actual surgery, it would be up to D'Eon. He had assisted in surgeries back in Russia in that Cossack backwater and later with Francois in Paris. D'Eon prayed he would be able to save his nephew.

Annemarie boiled the probes and scalpels while Robbie all up trussed Milien to a chair backwards so that his back was exposed. They had the youth bite on a leather throng to muffle any screams during the surgery. Cautiously by the light of a candle held by Robbie, D'Eon probed the wound, wincing inside at each stifled moan from his nephew. Finally, he located the bullet lodged in the shoulder blade.

"Just a bit more…" he took up the slender pliers and inserted them into the wound. No, they were unable to grip the bullet. He had to cut. He reached for the scalpel and sliced the wound open. Milien bucked against the chair, forcing his sister to hold him down. Once more, D'Eon tried to extract the bullet. This time it came out easily.

"C-cauterize it…" Milien spat out the leather throng and gasped. Grimly, D'Eon nodded and reached for the poker they had stuck in the fire for the eventuality. Milien bit into the throng and screamed silently as the hot iron seared his flesh, burning the wound shut. Exhausted, he collapsed against the chair.

* * *

"The book… Jean Paul is after the Psalms… We cannot let him have them. We should have killed him…" Natalia fretted. D'Eon had carried Milien upstairs and tucked him into her bed to recover from the ordeal.

"Robin is still in there… He wishes to send the princess to safety in Austria," D'Eon replied. He could not possibly stand by and watch his friend die.

Natalia nodded. "Yes, that is also true. But I fear he would strike at us soon… Annemarie, Robbie… even you, Uncle D'Eon… Will you risk that? We have to ensure that Psalms never fall into the wrong hands ever!"

"The Psalms cannot be easily destroyed. Perhaps we can hide them…" D'Eon suggested but he knew it was a fruitless gesture. The Psalms had their siren song and they would call out to those they deemed worthy, just as they had sounded out the twins' father, the late Maximilien Robespierre. _What guarantee had he that even buried within the bones of the catacombs, they would not conjure up another horror and find some hapless person to carry it out? _The Psalms changed people. If it were for them, would his sister and friends have died? Would Robin have joined the Revolutionary Brethren?

"_By the mingled blood of brother and sister…" _Natalia started before pausing. She walked out of the room, leaving D'Eon with his troubled thoughts.

The Psalms lay on the table where she had left them. A fire was burning in the hearth. _Yes, he should burn the damned book…_ Never mind if he were to be punished for his actions as King Louis XV was. He touched the book, expecting to feel the pulse of power from the poems within. There was nothing. He tried to lift the book but it would not yield to him. It was stuck on the table. Only Natalia or Maximilien could handle the book.

Defeated, D'Eon sat down in a chair by the fire and soon dozed off from sheer exhaustion.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Eon and Robin cross paths again, with Milien getting hurt.


	91. Foreboding

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 91 - Foreboding**

Natalia cautiously checked to see if her uncle was still awake. D'Eon's head lolled slightly as he sat in the chair by the fire. A soft snoring came from his gaping mouth. Yes, D'Eon de Beaumont was safely in dreamland. It was late at night and he had had a gruelling day digging graves. Annemarie would be asleep too. Robbie was on duty as the guard Jean Baptiste at one of the prisons. Natalia did not need anyone seeing what she was about to do. The Book of Psalms sat before her. She raised the knife and sliced her palm. Blood welled up and oozed from the cut. She placed her bleeding palm on the cover. The Book throbbed like a living thing.

The slight pulse sickened her. _How much blood had it drunk over the centuries?_ _By the mingled blood of brother and sister… _Like her brother, she was born of a forbidden union between Lia de Beaumont and Maximilien Robespierre, half-siblings. Feeling light-headed, she finally pulled her hand away. The bloodstain faded into the aged leather.

_Why had it not crumbled into dust like predicted? _She frowned in perplexed.

"It will not work, Lia." Milien walked into the room on silent feet. He had come down with a lung complaint after his injury, no doubt it was some after-effect from the days he spent in the unhealthy air of the catacombs. His face was pale, almost skeletal, and his night-shirt hung loosely about him.

"I've tried it already…" he held up his hand to reveal a healing scar on his wrist. "Perhaps…" he felt along the table-top until he found the bloodied knife. He took it and cut a line across his palm.

Natalia gasped at the sight of her brother's blood welling up. She caught on and nodded. She grabbed his wounded hand in her still-bleeding one. For a moment, they remained thus, allowing their blood to mingle. At an unbidden signal, both pressed their hands onto the pulsing book, willing it to fulfil the last prophecy. The Book glowed brighter before the glow died down. They were alone and the book still remained. The cover drank up the blood as it always had.

Panting, they could only stand there helpless before the hated book as their blood dripped onto the floor.

"Maximilien, Natalia! What are you doing? You're hurt!" It was D'Eon's voice which snapped them back into the present. The book and the bloodied knife still in Milien's hand told him what he needed to know. He seized the bandages and ointment from a nearby shelf and immediately set about treating their wounds.

"Promise me that there will be no more of this!" D'Eon glared at the twins when he was done, then at the detested Psalms. He was furious. The nagging sense of unease was growing worse over the past week since their encounter with Robin. Robin had confined himself to his office since, turning up at the Assembly only to argue the case for the princess' speedy transport to Austria in exchange for a doubtful peace on their border.

* * *

"It's like he's losing it, from what I hear from the others… One moment, he would be calmly arguing the merits of returning Princess Marie to her Austrian kin, the next he'd be railing against the proposal like a man possessed," Robbie reported. "I fear for your safety, Sir D'Eon and Madame Tussad… Perhaps as soon as the ships start sailing for England, you should leave here. Robespierre claims he has the names of certain traitors in this city during one of his rants in the assembly hall…"

"I will only leave if Natalia and Maximilien come with me," D'Eon replied. He glanced at the twins seated across the dining table. They held each other's hands. The bandage was still on Milien's hand. Natalia no doubt still bore her own bandage on her hand. Their expressions were both inscrutable. They reminded him of his sister in one of her uncommunicative moods. _If he should lose them…_

"Don't worry about us, uncle… What will be will be," Milien replied. His blind eyes seemed to be focused on some vision only visible to him. He gave his sister's hand a squeeze and she squeezed back.

There was good reason to worry. Robbie had warned them but Annemarie was reluctant to leave her home. Taking charge of the Psalms, Milien retreated to the hideout Robbie had made in the catacombs under the city. Natalia visited him daily with food and drink. D'Eon believed the place was fraught with foul air and did little good for Milien's lungs. Food was hard to come by now. Bread was often stale and mouldy when they did manage to obtain it. When Annemarie managed to get hold of a haunch of salted goat, they ate it with gusto, even D'Eon who would have shunned such food in his youth.

* * *

Robin groaned. He clutched desperately at his pocket-watch. Oh, _Durand… Her Majesty Queen Marie…_ He tried to focus on their faces as the fever of possession threatened to overwhelm him. Teillagory and Lady Anna's faces drifted into his mind. He swept his papers off the table in a fit of madness. The pistols were in the drawer to his right. He had shot at D'Eon and the twins that night. He had sighted D'Eon in the cemetery with the other grave-diggers. There was no sign of the twins. He dreaded to think that Milien, the boy he had watched blossom from a timid child to a confident young man, was lying in some unmarked grave…

He had to fight Jean Paul's influence. The poet was urging him to betray D'Eon and Annemarie Tussad, with whom the former knight had sought shelter. Madame Tussad was already under suspicion after her husband, Francois', disappearance. An accusation of murder would be easily pinned on the woman. D'Eon's noble blood was enough to see him to the guillotine. Robin clawed at the drawer containing his pistols. All remnants of Queen Marie's poems had long faded from them. Surely he could easily end it all now.

Wait, there was still the princess. He had to live to send the princess safely across the border. _Then… _

Exhausted, Robin collapsed on his table. He had ordered his clerk to lock him in the office. He hoped the man obeyed this unusual request. He did not want Jean Paul to use his body as he slept. There were always the windows…

The negotiations for peace were tedious and complicated by the Austrian Emperor's recent illness. The envoy was confused as to his orders with regards to the princess and had come with no decent transport for the girl. A coach would have to be arranged and with a suitable Austrian guard of honour. It was against royal protocol for a royal princess to travel bereft of a suitable escort. Ladies-in-waiting would be sent as well from Vienna. The journey would take a good two weeks if they were lucky.

* * *

In the streets below, Milien stood outside the building below hand-in-hand with his sister. The Psalms were left in his hideout in the catacombs lest their proximity attract the poet's attention. The light in Robespierre's office windows betrayed his presence.

"He is still fighting, Max…" Natalia reassured him. "We don't have to kill him yet…"

"If Jean Paul should win…" Milien left his words hanging.

"We will worry about it then," Natalia kissed her brother on the cheek, a gesture they did as children to comfort each other. The pair slipped off into the darkness of the night. Natalia had to return home before D'Eon got worried.

* * *

_Lia?_ He was definitely dreaming. D'Eon was back in his old house, which had long been sold and later razed in the riots of the Revolution. He was in the study where they often spent hours poring over books and documents. He could even smell the roses their housekeeper always cut and placed in a vase on the mantelpiece when they were in season. Indeed, it was a mercy his mother was away visiting in the country when they descended on the place. He dreaded to think what would have happened to her had she been home. Lia's portrait was hanging unblemished and whole on the wall. His sister was there, forever young in his memory. She looked up at him and smiled, beckoning him over to join her by the bookcase. He knew she was about to share a secret with him. He hesitated. Since she went to Versailles, Lia had grown distant from him.

_Come on, D'Eon… I have to tell you something…_

He obeyed like a chastised child. She pulled a Bible off the shelf and opened it to a page. She handed it to him and pointed at the page. _Yea as I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I shall have no fear…_ The words leapt up at him. He glanced at Lia. She had walked across to the French windows where Maximilien Robespierre, her lover and half-brother, stood. D'Eon was certain he had not been there earlier.

_Natalia and Maximilien. They should have died as children… They have had more than their allotted time on earth. We will welcome them when they come… _Maximilien Sr. took Lia's hand in his.

"If the Psalms are destroyed, will they perish? Is it their deaths that will free France from her nightmare? That's so unfair!" D'Eon protested.

_Have faith, D'Eon. I'm always with you… They'll be with you, in your heart. We shall meet again, someday…_ The couple walked out of the window, from which an ethereal light was beaming in.

* * *

D'Eon awoke with tears streaming down his cheeks. He was back in his humble bed in the Tussad house. A battered-looking bible was on the bedside table. He did not recognize it. It was probably Annemarie's. It had not been there when he went to bed. It was open to the page he recalled from his dream.

Unable to sleep, he rose from his bed, feeling his age in every stiff joint. His old wounds ached on such nights. He walked over to Natalia's room and peered in the door. He was surprised to see both twins there. Natalia had surrendered her small cot bed to her brother, opting to slumber in a chair by the fireplace. Milien was lying with his head on the pillow and his blond hair fanned out like a halo around his face. D'Eon thought it was better that he slept here warm and away from the damp of the catacombs.

The faint glow of the embers danced off Natalia's blond hair. She resembled her mother so much it made D'Eon's heart ache at the thought of losing her. He had watched her grow from a girl into the woman she was now. He had taught her all he knew about fencing, her letters, their country's history… They had passed many happy hours in each other's company as if they were father and daughter.

Milien had been distant when he first joined them, but now that he had warmed up to his uncle, D'Eon was able to see from their shared conversations that he was a thoughtful young man with a gentle heart. He understood Milien's conflict with regards to Robin but knew there was no way they could easily resolve that. D'Eon wished he could have spent more time nurturing Milien as he did Natalia. Robin did a fairly good job educating the boy given their circumstances.

There was nothing he could do now but pray for them.

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, the twins' time is running out, sadly.


	92. Final Showdown

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

This is a short chapter.

**Chapter 92 – Last Showdown**

It was a few weeks later that D'Eon found himself engaged in a conversation with Robbie in the kitchen of the Tussad house. The princess was scheduled to leave Paris but the Assembly, especially Robespierre, seemed to be reluctant to release her to the Austrian envoy. The Austrians were getting restless and the threat of war was looming once again. Spain and Italy had already declared war and skirmishing was occurring on their borders in the south and west of France.

"We have to get the princess out," Robbie said quietly in English as he stared into the flames of the hearth. "Get her to London."

"No, it is too risky. Let the Austrians take her to Vienna," D'Eon replied. "We are being watched. Annemarie is being watched…" He glanced over to where Annemarie dozed in her armchair, exhausted by her many chores. The apron she wore was streaked with blood and grime from her work in the morgue. Natalia had gone to bring food to Milien in the catacombs and had not returned.

"Saving the dauphin was risky too," Robbie stated. "I have three sons and a daughter back in London. I cannot recall their little faces… My girl, I have not seen her at all. I miss them, Sir D'Eon."

"Look, Robbie. I do not want anyone else to die… Hasn't there been enough death?" D'Eon glared at the Englishman. It was clear that Robbie missed his homeland. He missed his family back in England. He had spent years working as a spy under Sir William. Sir William's continued absence from France meant that Robbie was not getting any news from home. D'Eon was afraid this longing was affecting his better judgement.

"Sacrifices have to be made…" Robbie sighed. "For country, for king, for God…"

"Sacrifices? I don't want to see anyone else die, Robbie," the French knight closed his eyes and thought of all the deaths he had witnessed. His sister, friends… The most recent, Lady Labelle's, still weighed heavily on him. "Arrange to get Annemarie, Natalia and Maximilien to England… I'm sure Sir William would not mind you returning home to visit your children."

"You really believe your friend Robin or Robespierre will keep his promise?" Robbie asked. "Sir D'Eon. I can sneak into his office and slit his throat for you…"

"No!" D'Eon's reply was more vehement than he meant it to be. Robbie paled visibly and murmured an apology before hurrying off to bed.

Unbeknownst to D'Eon and Robbie, Natalia and Milien were eavesdropping on the pair's conversation in the yard outside the window.

"We have to act," Milien said. Natalia nodded. They had to exorcise that poet Jean Paul from Robespierre.

* * *

"D'Eon?" Robin glanced out of his office window. His eyes were bloodshot and he was exhausted from constantly struggling against Jean Paul. The blond man tilted his head up at the sound of his voice. _No, it was not the French knight but his nephew_. The spirit of Jean Paul flared into wakefulness deep within him. Robin groaned and gripped the window ledge. Maybe this was when he turned into a gargoyle or something.

Milien was not alone. Guiding him was his sister. Natalia also had the Psalms held to her breast. The book glowed with an otherworldly light.

* * *

"What's taking Natalia so long?" D'Eon asked and opened the front door. It was late for a young woman to be wandering the streets alone. He saw the basket on the porch. "No…"

She had taken that basket with her when she left earlier in the evening. _Had she been back and overheard his argument with Robbie?_ D'Eon studied the muddy yard. There was not one, but two sets of footprints. Milien was also with her. The twins must have the Psalms with them and gone to either confront Robin or free the princess. _But which? _

"Robbie! Wake up!" D'Eon shouted and ran to Robbie's room. He unceremoniously ripped the covers off the young Englishman and rousted him from bed.

"D'Eon? Is the house on fire? I was dreaming of my children." Robbie growled with annoyance as he rubbed his eyes. He groped for his breeches and slowly pulled them on. "I dreamt my girl grew up to be a beauty, belle of society and… What's going on?"

"There's no time to explain! Just get dressed and come!" D'Eon urged. Robbie shrugged, dressed and armed himself with a dagger and pistol. D'Eon prayed his gamble was right.

* * *

"Milien… Leave!" Robin shouted. He was losing his control. He could no longer hold on. Jean Paul took over with a vengeance. Now possessed, Robespierre kicked furiously at this office door, shouting for the clerk to come with the keys and unlock it. However, his calls went unanswered. The clerk had gone home for the night with the keys. Not to be defeated, he climbed onto the window ledge and started the perilous climb down to the street.

Fascinated, Natalia stared at the sight of the proper Master Robespierre climbing down the sheer wall of the building. Milien squeezed her hand. They had risk everything and act to force the poet's spirit from Robespierre.

She flipped open the book and chanted. The power of the Psalms pulsed through both Natalia and Milien like a fire in their veins. The strings of the Psalms roped about Robespierre, forcing him to his knees. Jean Paul cursed through his hapless vessel and fought back desperately.

Milien blinked. His sight was returning under the influence of the Psalms. He could make out the faint outline of his master. The street lamps were still lit but they were flickering ominously. He stepped closer to Natalia, who was still engrossed in her poems. He saw the glint of metal in his master's hand.

"Lia!" Milien shouted a warning but it was too late. The pistol in Robespierre's hand spat its deadly fire.

The crack of a pistol shot tore the night asunder.

**Author's Notes:**

A cliff-hanger. What will happen to the twins and D'Eon? Will Robespierre release the princess to the Austrians?


	93. Last of the Psalms

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

**Chapter 93 – Last of the Psalms**

"No!" D'Eon screamed as he ran towards the gunshots. Robbie was hot on his heels. The first thing D'Eon noticed was the limp form of Robin sprawled on the cobblestones. A discarded pistol was lying near him. D'Eon knelt down beside the redhead and took hold of his wrist. The skin was cool to the touch but there was a weak pulse. Robin gasped and groaned weakly. D'Eon picked up the firearm.

"Over here!" Robbie shouted from across the street. D'Eon hurried over. To his horror, he saw the twins lying there. Milien had fallen on top of Natalia. The spreading dark stain on the back of his shirt was undeniably blood. Gingerly, D'Eon rolled him over so that he might check on Natalia. There was blood on the front of his shirt too. The bullet had passed right through him. As he did so, Milien groaned weakly and his blue-violet eyes fluttered open.

"U-uncle D'Eon… L-lia… The Psalms…" Milien reached up to touch D'Eon's face with his icy-cold fingertips. He was barely alive and D'Eon knew from the extent of his injuries it would not be for long. The trickle of blood from the corner of his lips increased into a steady stream.

"M-max…" Natalia croaked weakly. The front of her bodice was drenched red. Robbie had managed to get her into a semi-sitting position. Blood was oozing from her throat. Only the pressure of Robbie's hand on the neck wound slowed the flow of her blood. Robbie shook his head when D'Eon's eyes met his. When she coughed, more blood gushed from her mouth. She weakly reached out for her brother. In her other hand she held the Psalms, now soaked with their blood.

"I-it's over. Let the people of France carve out their own path," Milien whispered weakly with a contented air. The Psalms started to crumble in the night air. D'Eon still cradled his nephew in his arms and he could feel the life leaving Milien. The light in Natalia's green-blue eyes steadily dimmed. Robbie wept as he hugged her. Robin had recovered enough to limp over. His grief-stricken eyes were the bright blue D'Eon recognized. He allowed the man to join him beside the dying Milien. Robbie hissed and reached for his dagger, but Natalia stopped him with her dying breath.

"E-enough…" she managed a weak smile before her eyes clouded over and she fell forward limply into Robbie's arms. The decaying fragments of the Psalms fell from her fingers to be whisked away by the night wind.

"Adieu… till we meet… in heaven…" Milien smiled before his last breath left him and his head drooped almost gracefully onto his chest.

"Mil!" Robin screamed and shook his shoulders. D'Eon wept silently. The Psalms were gone for good, but so were his nephew and niece.

"A new future without the Psalms… yet it is dearly bought…" D'Eon choked back his sobs.

"The revolution is still raging, sir," Robbie said archly and contemplated both corpses and the distraught redhead. Thinking the better of it, he sheathed his dagger. "Consider their sacrifice, you cur!" Robbie spat at Robin.

"Help me, Robbie… we can't leave them lying in the street…" D'Eon took charge. Robbie nodded and hurried off to find a cart.

"Forgive me, Milien…" Robin was still chafing Milien's hands as if to rub life back into him. "I didn't mean to… I should have been stronger…" he blubbered like a lost child.

D'Eon patted him on the shoulder. "He's gone. They're at peace now, both Maximilien and Natalia." An unspoken truce had been called.

"D'Eon… Jean Paul. I do not know if he is truly gone, even if the Psalms are," Robin whispered as he stood up. He had laid Milien out on the pavement with his arms crossed over his chest as if he were lying in a coffin. Robbie had also laid out Lia in a similar manner. The twins were lying side by side. D'Eon took out his handkerchief to clean their faces of the blood.

"You should kill me, D'Eon… lest he returns."

"Robespierre's work is not done. I can't kill you, Robin," D'Eon left it at that as the sound of cartwheels announced the return of Robbie.

* * *

The next twilight found the motley trio under bridge in the city. It was a cold night and fires blazed along the river bank. Their funeral pyre would go unnoticed. Robin had wanted Milien to be interred in a cemetery but Robbie remarked that only mass graves were dug now to accommodate the many victims of the guillotine and the reign of terror. D'Eon suggested they cremate the pair as he had down with his sister's corpse. A wooden boat was moored under the boat and laden with dry faggots and wood soaked with lamp oil.

On the pile of wood both twins had been laid out. Annemarie had done her best to wash and dress them for the funeral. D'Eon was painfully reminded of how he had seen Lia in her coffin that terrible day. Milien wore a fresh linen shirt with black trousers and a grey vest which judging from the way the legs and sleeves were hemmed up, belonged to the absent Francois. Natalia was dressed in her best blue gown with her lace shawl arranged modestly over her bosom. A satin ribbon hid the scar on her neck. There was no rouge to dress their cheeks so their faces were as pale as white wax.

D'Eon forced himself to recite and lead the prayers while Robin and Robbie stood there in silence. When he was done, Robbie set his torch to the pyre. The flames caught swiftly with a roar, swallowing all. Between them, they shoved the burning boat off the bank and into the swift-flowing current of the Seine. The tiny craft bobbed and glowed as the fog swallowed it up.

"Sir D'Eon, I must see to the Princess Marie Therese," Robin spoke. The three men had walked along the streets in silence for a long while after the funeral. "You have my word she will be conducted safely to the Austrians. Would you care to join her in the journey to Vienna?"

"No, I am too old to be running about Europe," D'Eon shook his head. "But I know you will keep your word."

"I fear Jean Paul may have given the assembly enough doubts to act against Annemarie Tussad and you," Robin added. "It will be best if…"

"Perhaps it will be best if you speak to them to dissuade those suspicions," Robbie interjected. They had arrived before Robespierre's offices without noticing it. Robin shook D'Eon's hand stiffly but the knight pulled him close for a warm embrace. It was a risk for Robespierre to be seen walking about the streets of Paris in such uncertain times and D'Eon appreciated the fact that he chosen to attend the funeral.

"Till we meet again," D'Eon released Robin and watched as the latter entered the building. Robbie, in his guise as Jean Baptiste the guardsman, loped into the building after Robin. He greeted someone inside with a raucous and somewhat lewd jest, drawing laughter from the other guards and clerks within.

* * *

A week lapsed, during which Jean Baptiste returned to his rented lodgings which he now shared with another guard, a dim-witted country boy from outside the city. When questioned about the whereabouts of the lovely Natalia by the neighbours, Annemarie wove a lie about her helper returning to the countryside to nurse a sick mother. The neighbours tut-tutted and expressed their best wishes for the mother's swift recovery and the hopeful return of the well-liked Natalia to their midst. D'Eon would smile, nod and reassure them that his niece would soon return. Jean Baptiste returned suddenly one evening to the Tussad house with grim news.

"They have turned against him for sure. Master Robespierre has fallen. His day is over. We better move lest they turn their attentions back to us," he reported grimly.

"What happened?" D'Eon asked. Annemarie did not bother to ask. Instead, she went up to her room and the sounds of her pottering about suggested that she was packing for a journey.

"I was there. It was terrible. He tried to argue for the release of certain prisoners to accompany the princess, who has by the way, left this morning with the Austrians. The assembly was outraged and asked him on the charges to be laid against Madame Tussad and her tenants. That was something he, or that dead poet Jean Paul, had been harping on for a bit. He tried to turn their attention away from that but failed… Then he announces he has a list of enemies of the assembly but he is not going to show them the list. That was when a riot broke out and he had to run for safety…"

"Good Lord, is he hurt? And the princess?" The princess' entourage would take a few days to leave French territory. The slow-moving procession could easily be captured…

"Don't worry about the Monsieur. He narrowly missed being hit by a wine bottle but I'd say he had a nasty fright when they started yelling for him to be guillotined. Her Royal Highness is in good hands. Her Austrian uncles sent a good fifty soldiers for her escort. Word has it they have more men outside the city, possibly a regiment's worth. A battalion waits on the border, ready to rush in if anything happens. No, Sir William believes that the Assembly would not be so foolish as to attack the princess' entourage and give Austria an excuse for war. Sir William has sent word. A ship will be leaving Calais for England in four days' time. We have to be on it…"

"What about Robin?"

"They will execute him. As I speak, a handful of guards have received their orders to arrest him on the charge of treason against the revolution… Wait! D'Eon! Where're you off to?" Robbie exclaimed as D'Eon dashed out. Nevertheless, Robin was his friend for all his sins.

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, the twins are dead and Robin's head will be the next to roll, literally. At least D'Eon and Robin are back to being friends.


	94. Adieu, Mon Ami

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Warning: There is a suicide attempt in this chapter. And D'Eon gets to wear a dress as a disguise.

**Chapter 94 – Adieu, Mon Ami**

Despite all that had happened, Robin was still his friend. And it is worth dressing up as a woman in order to persuade Robin to leave with them. Robbie had managed to tackle D'Eon before he got to the end of the street. Going as himself would be suicide. Annemarie's dress was a bit too short and a little tight about the shoulders but it had to do. There was an old woman who did the cleaning after the clerks had gone home. Robbie knew she would not be showing up tonight given that she had been warned not to by one of his fellow guards. They did not want any old grandmothers to get caught in any fight during the arrest. D'Eon pulled the lacy mob-cap with the tricolour pinned on it over his face as far as possible. The shawl he wrapped around his shoulders, pulling it well up to his chin. He had shaved that morning and there was no stubble to give him away.

Mimicking the movements of an old woman, he plodded into the building unchallenged by the sleepy-eyed youngster at the door. Thankfully, the boy did not notice the men's boots peering out from under the too-short skirt. Robbie had gone to meet up with the guards tasked with the arrest. They would suspect him if he failed to turn up. Robin's office was on the second floor. D'Eon climbed up the stairs. The only light still burning was the one in Robin's office. With a swish of his starched skirts, D'Eon entered the room. The redhead was sitting at his table.

Pale-faced and sporting dark circles round his eyes, Robin studied the pocket watch he held in his hand. A pistol lay on the table before him.

"It is late, Madame Pouller…" he greeted D'Eon without looking up from the watch. D'Eon stealthily shut the door behind him.

"Robin, do you not recognize me in this garb?" he asked.

Robin started and stood up. Confusion showed in his blue eyes. "D'Eon? Why are you here?"

"You are in danger, Robin. We must leave… It has gone on for long enough."

"Not as much danger as you if they catch you… I'm not leaving, D'Eon. There are some things Robespierre must do to end this…"

D'Eon's heart sank as Robin grasped the pistol in his hand and pointed it not at D'Eon but at his own temple.

"Don't be a fool, Robin. Durand will not have wanted this. Maximilien would not have wanted this," D'Eon appealed. There was moment of hesitation and the pistol was lowered a fraction of an inch. "Come with us to England. You can start again as Robin… without the Psalms, or poets…" As he spoke, he stepped across the room, towards Robin.

"Sorry, D'Eon. I can't. I have been Master Robespierre for too long. I cannot go back to being Robin the page…" A wistful smile danced on Robin's thin lips. "I'm sorry for everything, D'Eon… Have my watch, D'Eon. It was Durand's before. I only wish…"

D'Eon heard the footsteps and the excited murmur of voices. Then the door burst open as guards charged in.

"Maximilien Robespierre! We arrest you…" One voice rang out above the others. There was a terrible bang. The acrid stench of black powder and blood seared the air. D'Eon retched. His knees threatened to give way as he watched Robin's lower jaw disintegrate into a bloody mess of shattered bone and flesh. Somehow, Robin had missed.

"Mon Dieu! He lives…"

"Doctor! He needs a doctor!"

Robbie was by D'Eon's side, restraining him from approaching the fallen man. The other guards half-dragged, half-carried a moaning Robin out of the office. They would not let him die so easily, not without a trial. D'Eon allowed Robbie to lead him home to Annemarie's like some stricken old grandmother. He did not realize until later that the wetness on his cheeks were his own tears. _The watch…_ D'Eon groped in his apron pocket. _Yes, somehow in his dazed state, he had pocketed the watch whilst the guards' attentions were on Robin. _Robbie did not think to stop him. The watch was still ticking steadfastly. D'Eon clasped it in his hand and wept.

* * *

"It's insanity, Sir D'Eon. Annemarie has already left for Calais. Robespierre's fate is sealed…" Robbie admonished. "He is a dead man!"

"Please, I only ask for a few more days in Paris. He is my friend and I wish to stay with him till the end," D'Eon asked.

"They are looking for you and Madame Tussad. I have my own disguise to worry about…" Robbie bemoaned but still he managed to sneak D'Eon into the courthouse disguised as a clerk.

The horsehair moustache itched terribly and the clerk's clothes Robbie procured for his disguise stank. There were rips in the back and suspicious dark stains which cleaning did not quite eliminate. It would be much later that Robbie confessed to stealing them off a dead clerk in the morgue. The stink went unremarked on in the courthouse, which was crammed full of sweating, hostile people eager to watch the fall of one of the revolution's leaders. Robin stood stoically in the dock, his clothes still bloodied and a blood-stained bandage round his lower face. He could not speak and did little more than nod or shake his head in reply when questioned. If he spied D'Eon in the crowd, he did not betray any emotion. The trial was swift and soon over with the inevitable verdict.

"It is not good enough. I must speak with him…" D'Eon confronted Robbie after the trial.

"As in the prison? Well, I expected that much of you," Robbie grinned impishly at the challenge. The spy was never one to turn down a challenge.

* * *

"Do you know they get a barber to trim the hair of those condemned to die the night before?" Robbie added as he fumbled under his bed when they had returned to Robbie's room. His roommate was on guard duty. "Wear these and take the barber's kit," Robbie instructed. He took a deep breath.

"Sir D'Eon, you will have to trim a few heads before you meet him, and not for too long. You have to do your part as a barber. Maybe five or so prisoners should be a good start. The other barbers would not mind sharing less work… D'Eon, you have very kind eyes. I know those prisoners will want to talk to you, like confessing their sins to a priest. They can't get any priests in there now the all the Parisian priests have fled or are dead… It will be difficult…" Robbie hesitated.

"You have been there too, right, Robbie?" D'Eon asked. The young man nodded. Robbie's eyes were kind under all his coarse manners. He had probably taken on the duties of a barber himself to get close to the prisoners.

"Give me the kit. I will do my best…" D'Eon sucked in a deep breath and placed the natural-looking hair wig on his head. Silently, Robbie handed him the rest of the disguise. If their deception was revealed, both of them would join Robin on the platform.

His first 'customer' was a weepy young woman whose only crime was to be a seamstress to a noblewoman. Her noble mistress had long fled the country but the servants were not so fortunate. D'Eon did not know how he managed to hack off those dark silky locks with his blunt scissors. There was little he could offer in the way of comfort for the poor woman apart from a mumbled apology and a promise to pray for her. That seemed to be enough for her for her sobs had eased off and she had bestowed a small smile on him when he left.

The next was an enigma in the fine-cut clothes of a nobleman but the chafed and ink-stained fingers of a common clerk too poor to afford decent gloves. Count Evermonde, Robbie had informed D'Eon of the identity of this particular prisoner. He had been scribbling something at the table when D'Eon entered. The Frenchman was surprised to see it was a phrase in English. '_Forgive me…_' and separately, a woman's name '_Lucy_'. In silence, D'Eon trimmed the stranger's hair. He was not familiar enough with the Evermonde family except that the last count had been a vile character and that his wife had left France with their infant son. He wondered what could have brought the son, now a man, back to certain death. A light of confidence and fearlessness blazed in the prisoner's eyes. Death had no horror for him.

"Should have remained in London, be a soldier… You're a brave man, sir. Not worth throwing your life away," D'Eon muttered softly in English as he trimmed away at the man's hair.

"It is worth it for her…" the prisoner started in English but recovered himself enough to hold his tongue. D'Eon did not press further but saluted the man's courage and determination from the bottom of his heart.

The third was the worst. He was a churchman who had been less-than-holy in his life and was now seized with a terror of death and the hellfire waiting. D'Eon endured a full five minutes of the man's blubbering confessions of his myriad sins before he was done with his barber-work. Even Robbie, who had been escorting D'Eon around the cells, was weary of the man. The guard dealt the prisoner a blow to the jaw when he started clinging to D'Eon's coat and begging to be released. That blow stunned the man and sent him crashing back into his wooden chair.

Robin's was the last cell Robbie brought him to. Robin was already waiting on the room's sole wooden chair.

Eyes downcast and lifeless, he did not look up or turn towards the door when D'Eon entered. D'Eon took a hank of Robin's red hair, now streaked with grey, and snipped away. His brow was too warm to the touch. Sweat beaded on his brow. D'Eon knew the wound was infected and Robin was probably dying from it. Even if he had not been sentenced to die tomorrow morning, he would be unlikely to live till sunset.

"Robin…" D'Eon whispered. The redhead's eyelids fluttered. He understood who was there trimming his hair. D'Eon clipped the hair short the best he could with his scissors. When he was about to go, Robin reached out weakly and clasped his wrist. Blue eyes met his, seeking forgiveness.

"I forgive you," D'Eon whispered. Robin nodded and let his hand fall away from D'Eon's wrist. Robbie was back outside the cell, rapping on the door to urge the barber to hurry up. They must leave.

Disguised as a woman, D'Eon would witness Robin's death by the guillotine in a few hours before leaving Paris for Calais to meet up with Annemarie for their flight to London under the careful arrangement of Sir William and Robbie.

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, Charles Dickens' fans may have noted I borrowed two of his characters from the Tale of Two Cities.

I will probably do an epilogue chapter to tie things up for D'Eon.

Mon Ami - my friend in French


	95. Epilogue

Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

This short chapter has echoes of my fic _Absolution. _

**Epilogue **

The fires of the revolution had died out. He was old now. Rheumy-eyed, the former knight looked at the window of his small chamber overlooking the shabby streets of London. The Lioness of Versailles was right. He had outlived most of his contemporaries. After fleeing to England, he had initially lived with Annemarie Tussad in London where her skills as a mortician enabled her to set up a business. Once the Revolution was over, she returned to France, hoping to find Francois. Her efforts were in vain and she was soon stranded in France when the Napoleonic wars started up. She was still there, probably. D'Eon heard that the Auguste's daughter Princess Marie Therese had married her cousin, the heir to the throne of Austria. The couple were known for the patronage of charitable works and the arts. Outside France, the son of the Duke of Orleans had been put forward for the throne.

He visited an old friend of his sister's, Queen Mary, at her seaside estate in Dover. The former king had died and left her widowed. There was no need for his services as a tutor in her house and sentiments were high against the French thanks to the war. He did not know then that he was speaking with her for the last time. Within six months, she was dead from a fever. His long-time friends, the poets Sir William and his sister Doris were now gone as well. The scarlet fever took Doris one winter and Sir William lapsed into a decline before finally passing away in his sleep one night. Doris' prediction about Robbie dying on the gallows came true, unfortunately.

Robbie continued his work as a spy for the English. He was sent to Ireland to infiltrate some rebels. Fighting broke out. The rebels caught him and hung him from a gibbet, leaving him there as a warning for any townspeople considering defecting to the English. It was a good two months before the English forces retook the town and Robbie's body interred in the local cemetery. D'Eon had visited Robbie's family after his death. Most of Robbie's nephews, nieces and children had left for opportunities in the New World as the years passed. D'Eon eventually took up residence in a garret room in the house of Robbie's youngest daughter, a shrew of a widow who went by the name of Mrs Cole. She took care of D'Eon's meals and boarding for a reasonable monthly sum, paid out from some investments D'Eon had made in London on Sir William's advice.

D'Eon's sight and hearing were poor now and his joints stiffened by age. The sounds of his landlady yelling at her hapless sons below no longer bothered him. He no longer went out for walks. Instead, he was content to sit in his chair by the window and dream of the France he once knew, his departed friends and loved ones… It no longer mattered how the wars in Europe was going. That seemed a world away.

"Sir D'Eon?" a boy's voice called softly. D'Eon opened his eyes slowly. He saw a slight figure by his chair. For one moment, he thought it was one of the Cole lads. _Was it time for his meal?_ Then his eyes focused. The boy was a redhead. All the Cole lads had inherited their mother's and grandfather's raven hair. Robert Beaumont's blood bred true. D'Eon blinked. It was Robin as he had appeared on their first meeting.

"R-robin? I must be dreaming…" D'Eon gasped. Robin took his wrinkled hand in his. They were warm, as though Robin was alive and standing before him in the flesh. The page grinned and pulled D'Eon to his feet. There was a slight discomfort as his stubborn joints protested. Then the discomfort melted away and contented warmth settled over D'Eon. He felt younger and his senses more keen than they had been in years.

Before Robin could stop him, he turned and saw…

D'Eon was not too perturbed to see his cast-off body lounging in his chair. Somehow he understood. The vessel of flesh which had housed his soul, and for a period his sister's as well, had expired. The old man was almost bald and toothless, wrinkled and pale. He was dead but he was at peace.

"Sir D'Eon," Robin spoke shyly. "They are all waiting…"

"Even Anna?" D'Eon asked quietly. Robin nodded. "Yes, even Yvette, Natalia and Milien… and your sister, too."

"Why did you choose to appear in this form, Robin?" It was odd speaking to young Robin when he had seen Robin perish on the scaffold as a spent shell, wearied and old beyond his years.

"I was happiest then, Sir D'Eon, as your friend…" Robin smiled. They were walking towards the open window, which now glowed with a soft golden light. Together, they walked up to the window sill.

"You are still my friend, Robin." D'Eon stepped over the threshold. He was dimly aware of Mrs Cole dropping her tea tray and yelling for her son to fetch a doctor. She had discovered his lifeless corpse. It no longer mattered to him. D'Eon knew he was going home, back to his loved ones.

**Author's Notes:**

This is officially the last fanfiction chapter I am writing for this fandom and possibly the anime and manga category.

Thank you for all the reviews and encouragement, readers.


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